


Put On a Slow, Dumb Show for You

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shop, Heists, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles owns a coffee shop, Erik is a corporate lawyer (and owns some really nice suits). Things get a bit hazy from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

Charles is tallying up the receipts from the previous night when Raven pokes her blonde head in the door and says, "He's here."

"Who's here."

"Don't play dumb, Charles. You know who."

"I have absolutely no idea. And I'm busy here, in case you hadn't noticed."

"He's wearing the blue pinstripe today. The one that brings out his eyes."

Charles sighs and puts the receipts down. "I wish you would stop trying to fix my love life, Raven."

Raven rolls her eyes. "That would imply you had a love life to fix, _Charles._ He's cute. You should ask him out."

"I should hit on a man who comes in every morning at seven a.m. in a five thousand dollar suit, says the exact same eleven words - and I've memorized them, by the way: the usual please, yes that'll be all, thank you very much. Looks directly at the person manning the checkout when he does it and does not manage to smile a single time, even when it's Angel. Rushes out as soon as he gets his drink. That's the person you want me to ask out."

Raven nods her head, seemingly pleased with herself. "See, I knew you noticed him." She twirls around and heads back outside, but not before tossing over her shoulder, "And yes, that's exactly what I think you should do."

Sometimes, having an employee that's also your little sister is more trouble than it's worth. He gets up and hastily makes his way outside in case Raven does something embarrassing like ask the guy if maybe he swung that way and even if he didn't what about some bicuriosity? The last guy she did that to actually ended up asking Charles out, only to spend the entire disastrous evening inquiring about Raven.

"She's seventeen," Charles said, more than once. "She's my sister," and when he didn't seem to comprehend Charles' _touch her and I will end you_ tone of voice Charles finally had to come right out and say it. "Come near my sister and die."

Raven had the nerve, after he'd been hastily dropped off at his doorstep, to stand at the top of the stairs and demand the "deets."

"No more setups, Raven," he growled, and stomped past her disappointed face to his bedroom. She promised, eventually, reluctantly, after Charles had given her a well deserved lecture for about half an hour.

Another thing about Raven, as Charles emerges into the coffee shop to find her talking up a storm to Savile Row, is that she never ever seems to learn her lesson.

"Listen," she's saying now, beaming as she pushes a glass fish bowl towards him. "Why don't you drop your card in, we'll email you if there are any promotions going on. You might even win a years' supply of free coffee."

Savile Row looks nonplussed. Charles comes up behind Raven and shoots a warning glare at her, but she just responds by winking conspiratorially at him.

"Why don't you just serve the gentleman his coffee, Raven, and leave him be. Also table twelve needs cleaning."

"No it doesn't. Charles, why don't you - ow. Fine, going."

"Sorry about that," Charles says, when Raven has finally deigned to wander off in the vague direction of table twelve, which does in fact need cleaning, thank you very much, and if he had a proper waitress rather than Raven - "My sister is," he trails off, because he's being stared at expectantly.

Charles blinks at the man for a while, until he says, "My coffee, please?" and Raven's not wrong about how lovely his eyes are.

"Ah, right, sorry." He turns around helplessly, but Armando is right there, wordlessly handing him a hot take away cup. "Don't tell me you're in on it, too," Charles mutters under his breath, but there's only confusion registering on Armando's face. He turns back to Savile Row, hands him the cup. "There you go. Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. uh -"

"It's quite all right. And you can call me Eric, by the way."

Once Eric is out of the shop, Raven stops pretending she's wiping down the table and skips over to Charles. "So?"

"So? So what. Raven, I swear I don't know what's gotten into you. You promised me you'd stop with this incessant need to -"

"To what? To see my big brother happy? Get laid more than once every two years?" She pats Charles reassuringly on the shoulder as Charles feels his face turn red. "Relax. I got this for you."

Charles doesn't quite register what she's saying until she's halfway across the room. Then he says belatedly, plaintively, "You're not getting anything for me, Raven. You understand? Raven?"

Armando leans close to him. "Relax, man. When she gets like this, probably best to just go with it, you know?"

"Go back to work," Charles growls helplessly, because it's not like anyone listens to him anyway. Armando grins easily. Oh, definitely in on it. Charles puts his head in his hands and sighs.

*

"I swear Charles, sometimes it's as if you want to die alone."

"I'm twenty-nine, Raven. It's hardly time to start carving my gravestone. Although I gather it would read: Here lies Charles Xavier. Dead from a heart attack caused by his meddling little sister." He stabs viciously at a piece of broccoli, grimacing when his fork goes right through and hits the plate with a disquieting screech.

They're having a late dinner, and as usual what starts out as him and Raven ends up with an entire gang of raucous children as Raven texts them and they show up at the house as and when they please. Even Angel drops by, although she hasn't said much except to quietly smile at Armando then turn her attention back to her food.

"Angel," Raven says admiringly. "I love your tattoos. Where'd you get them? I was thinking -"

"No," Charles says firmly.

"You're such an old man, Charles. Isn't he?"

"Well, he's kinda my boss so maybe I shouldn't say anything negative about him."

"Smart girl. If only my other employees practiced such diplomacy."

Raven pointedly ignores him in favor of putting her arms around Armando and whispering into his ear. Armando laughs, and they both look at him sideways. Perhaps he should just fire everyone. Start over.

*

"Whatever happened to the guy that used to pick up girls - and boys - with the line: Do you know that the coffee bean is in actual fact a seed?"

"You told me they were lame and made you embarrassed to be associated with me."

"Yes, but for some reason they actually seemed to work. At least you saw some action."

"Life isn't just about getting action." Charles frowns at her. "You'll realize that soon enough, when your hormones stop working in overdrive. Now can we go back to fractals?

The only thing more difficult than getting Raven to leave off his sex life is getting her to focus on her studies. Raven isn't stupid, they both know that, she just doesn't seem to know how or isn't inclined to apply that intelligence academically.

"I don't see what's the point anyway," she mutters to Charles once. "All your diplomas and you opened a coffee shop. Let's not even talk about your other skills."

Raven will be fine, Charles knows this. She's beautiful and bright and capable of accomplishing just about anything she sets her mind to. Still, Charles can't help but worry. "Let's just get you through high school, shall we?"

Raven sighs dramatically and slumps into her seat, "No one survives high school, Charles. Not without massive psychological scars. And many years of therapy."

"This from the girl voted most popular two years in a row."

Raven's popularity in school is peculiar to Charles, who spent most of his prep school days content to be invisible when he wasn't hiding behind the raucous anonymity of a drunken stupor. But he can't imagine anyone not being charmed by Raven, so. She only tells him though, morosely, "Being popular isn't everything. They don't know the real me."

"And who is the real Raven?"

"You wouldn't understand," Raven replies, and she looks utterly miserable for a moment. "You always forget that I'm just passing for someone like you."

"The school has quite a fair number of international studen-"

He stops when Raven snorts derisively. "God, listen to yourself. How about we trot my real mother in there the next time there's some parent-teacher conference. Let's see how welcoming they are, how tolerant." Charles doesn't know how to respond to that, so he turns a page of the calculus book instead.

*

Savile Row - Eric, Charles reminds himself - doesn't show up for the next four days, and Charles wonders briefly if he's never coming in again, but Monday morning he's back, looking as put together as always. His eyes are tired though, and his face looks drawn underneath his tan. "In winter," Raven whispered once. "Wonder if he came back from vacation somewhere beautiful and warm?"

"Eric, right?" Charles says, and Eric looks briefly startled. "Away on business?" The man's discomfort seems to increase the longer Charles tries to make small talk, so Charles just says, "Double espresso, coming right up."

"I'm sorry," Eric says, as Charles turns away. "I've just had a long week. And I desperately need a cup of coffee. Yours is the best in the entire city."

Armando busy in the back room, so Charles has to move to the espresso machine to make the coffee himself. Surprisingly enough, Eric moves with him the few steps so they're still within comfortable hearing distance. Charles cuts open a fresh packet of beans and pours it into the funnel. "Flattery will get you anywhere," he says, as the espresso starts pouring out in a satisfyingly dark hue. He transfers both shots to a single takeaway cup and says, "This one's on the house."

The corners of Eric's mouth lifts up. "Thank you. Uh -"

"Charles. Charles Xavier." Charles extends a hand, and it's grasped in a strong, dry grip. "See you tomorrow then, Eric."

"Lehnsherr."

"Ah." Lehnsherr. Erik then, more likely.

"Could I get my hand back, please," Erik says, but making no effort whatsoever to extract himself from Charles' grip.

"Right, sorry." He releases Erik, and Erik's mouth curls up again. Charles wonders, briefly, what that mouth would look like wrapped around his - he has to shake the thought violently off. Perhaps Raven is right. He does need to get laid.

"Cute," Armando says, reappearing to take his place back at the machine.

"Yeah," Charles replies, mostly to himself. "Where were you, by the way."

Armando scowls and shakes his head. "Phone. I tell you, girls sometimes. Not worth the bother."

Armando has a volatile, complicated relationship with his girlfriend, which includes, according to scuttlebutt, i.e. Raven, her frequently losing her temper and throwing plates at Armando's head. She must have terrible aim though, because he never shows up for work looking anything less than dapper. Charles only met the girl once, she showed up one afternoon, this tiny spitfire of a girl with cropped hair and brightly steeled studs piercing all available space on her ears. She'd jumped over the counter and launched herself into Armando's arms, and it would have been adorable if it hadn't been so sickeningly cute. "Grad school again?

"What else do we ever argue about."

"You should go," Charles tells him, picking up a tray of brownies and carefully starting to transfer one after another to the display case. "Expanding your knowledge is always useful. I could get you recommendations. Help you - well, in whatever capacity I can."

"In this economy? Naw, man. I don't think so."

Charles can't really argue with that, not right now, so he concentrates on the brownies instead, aligning them just so. At some point he realizes he's being stared at, and when he glances up Raven says, "You do realize you own this joint, right? That other people, like say, me, can do that for you?"

Charles waves his hand vaguely around and slides the last brownie into place. "But I like doing it," he says. He does. It's soothing. Plus it keeps him busy. Busy is good. "You can man the checkout if you'd like."

"Sure," Raven says. "Whatever."

*

"So you work at Hartford and Sons?" Charles asks Erik. "For how long?"

Erik studies his face as he takes out his wallet to pay. Charles considers waving it off, but giving the man a free cup of coffee every other day might come off a little _desperate_. The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Raven.

Erik pauses for far too long before replying, "About three years, give or take. Thank you for the excellent coffee, as usual." He turns and walks out before Charles can respond. Charles isn't really sure what he should say anyway. Two weeks since they learnt each other's names and all Charles can get out of him is that he's a lawyer at one of the biggest law firms in town and that he very possibly maybe lives alone. Charles has never met a man more guarded. He stares at Erik as he puts his hat back on outside, then strides away without a backward glance.

"You should just ask him out," Angel says, appearing at his side like a tiny butterfly. Charles makes a mental note to only hire people shorter than him in the future. She makes him look positively gigantic in comparison. "What?"

"The suit. Ask him out," Angel repeats patiently, because two weeks in his employ is apparently enough for Raven and her to become best friends, and to disabuse him of the notion that she ever was shy or quiet.

"Oh for heaven's sake, not you too." Charles tries to give her his "mind your own business" glare, but she's far too cute and also good at pretending she's not. "Look," he confesses finally. "It's not that I don't want to. But the man is clearly not interested. He's been coming in here for months now and I've only just learnt what he does for a living. Somehow I don't think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, let alone a relationship."

"Listen," Angel says, as she leans over to wipe the counter. "I gotta tell you the truth, okay. Your coffee? isn't that great." Charles opens his mouth to protest. "I mean it's good and all, but if he's working at Hartford and Sons, he'd be going over to Bailey's, where I used to work and all the waitresses look like me. Except with less clothing."

"Yeah, but are their espressos any good," Charles says. At Angel's slow headshake he goes, "Maybe he's just a creature of habit."

"Besides, he looks like the type of guy that's got assistants to buy him coffee, you know."

Charles can't really argue with her logic, seeing as how just the day before his awkward attempt at conversation number fifty-six had been interrupted by Erik's cell ringing, and his apologetic, "My assistant, sorry, I have to take this," before he practically ran out of the door

"I'll think about it," he tells Angel finally, mostly to shut her up. "What? I promise."

*

He doesn't get a chance to do so, because Raven gets suspended from school the very next day, and Charles spends most of the week arguing with the headmistress over her wanting to expel Raven permanently. It goes terribly, until Charles finally snaps, "Am I to understand that my sister is no longer welcome at the school with the world class chemistry lab donated by the Xavier family," even as he winces inwardly at how very much like his stepfather he sounds.

"I don't want to go to this stupid school any-"

"Be quiet, Raven, the adults are having a conversation." He turns back to the headmistress. "Well?"

Once they're back in the car, Raven crosses her arms across her chest and sulks.

"Don't even speak to me," Charles snaps, as he turns on the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.

"I wasn't planning to. But you can't jus-"

"Don't."

"Fine, whatever. It's not as if you'd understand anyway."

*

Raven spends the next two days in a teenaged funk, and Charles is busy running errands he's been putting off for ages, so the only time he has for the coffee house is in the evening, where he spends almost all his time in the office, closing out. The third day, he has a stack of books in one hand and a laptop in another, and he's pretty sure something or other is going to fall spectacularly, but as he's headed towards the back Raven waves at him, then nods her head in the direction of the corner booth.

Of course, Erik would choose to look up at the exact same moment Charles is staring at him, mouth wide open like an extremely breathless fish.

"Erp," Charles says, and there was a time when he'd have steeled himself, sauntered over, but apparently that's long past, so Charles just does the most appropriate thing he can think of. He bolts.

Five minutes later, he thinks: Well that was a foolish thing to do.

Ten minutes later, he thinks: Might as well just go out there, since you've already made a fool of yourself. Like a teenager. Like a silly, lovestruck teenager.

And this is how he ends up, nine p.m. on a Friday night, sitting across from Erik Lehnsherr in his exquisitely cut suit and his perfectly coiffed hair, having a conversation about coffee beans.

"Does that line ever work," Erik looks like he's trying to stop himself from smiling. He doesn't wait for Charles to respond, just continues, "I asked that lovely cashier of yours why you were no longer there in the mornings. It ruined my routine, you see. And I really enjoy my routines."

"Well, I've been busy." Charles runs his fingers nervously through his hair, before he realizes he's just messed up his carefully applied gel. Erik just watches him though, intensely observant as always, and Charles exhales. "We should have dinner sometime, possibly. I think."

"I don't really do dinner I'm afraid. I don't have the time."

"You don't have time to eat?"

"I don't have time for anything, Charles." Erik's suddenly dead serious, and for all the world as if he's ready to stand up and walk away forever.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm not quite sure, to be honest."

"It's just one dinner, Erik. I promise not to keep you out too late."

Erik doesn't respond for far too long, but when he finally does it's to nod his head and say, "Tomorrow. I'll pick you up at eight. Take down my number and text me your address." He stands up, starts gathering up his coat and hat, his briefcase.

"You're leaving?"

"Long day." He tilts his head before he puts the hat on. "I'll see you tomorrow, Charles."

*

Raven pulls out of her tantrum long enough to yell at him from the banister of the second floor. "You're going out with him? Seriously? Wow. I honestly didn't think you had it in you." She turns away, but then turns back just as abruptly. "And you're wearing that?"

Charles peers down at his sweater. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing."

"Nothing, if you're fifty." She rolls her eyes. "Whatever, though. He already knows you're a dork and he still wants to go out with you."

"Raven," Charles says.

"Don't, okay." Her faces closes up, turns tight. "It's not easy for me like it is for you, Charles. I don't belong in that school."

"Then where do you want to be? Just tell me, Raven. Let me help you."

"You can't fix everything all the time, okay." Her scowl fades though, and in the end all she says is, "Go. Have a good time. I will totally stay in my room in case you want to bring him back here."

"Not on the first date, Raven," he calls after her, more for propriety's sake than anything else, but she's already gone, door slamming shut behind her unnecessarily, as usual.

*

Erik shows up precisely at eight. Charles appreciates the punctuality, but he appreciates Erik's casual pants and leather jacket combo more. "There's this Mexican place downtown," he tells Charles. "I made reservations."

"Wherever's fine."

Erik's car is much like the man. Sleek, understated and brimming with hidden danger. Charles sinks into the passenger seat and attempts to make small talk, but Erik doesn't seem interested so he peers out the window instead.

Dinner isn't what Charles expected. Erik barely talks, instead focusing entirely on his meal and his glass of wine. Charles tries his best, but it's as awkward as it is every other time they've had a conversation, him trying to ask a question and Erik reacting as if he's a government spy sent to torture answers out of him.

"So how about them Mets," he says at one point, irritated to breaking point, which at least startles Erik into laughter for a moment.

By the end of it, Charles has decided that this was pretty much a wash, and what a shame because Erik looked so damned good. Finally, the check comes, and after Charles insists on paying for half, he's about ready to go home when Erik says, "I live just two blocks over. Would you like to come over for a drink?"

"Yes," Charles says, his hand still on his coat. "Why not."

*

"So uh, you've lived here long?" Charles asks, staring at the bare walls, the absolute lack of a personalized touch in any of the furniture at all.

"A few years. Why?"

"Do you have company at all?"

Erik slides his hands into his pockets, says, "No, not often, I confess." He waves in the general direction of the kitchen. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, please," Charles replies, and he doesn't ask _Why do you live like you're renting a motel room?_ and _Why did you spend all evening practically ignoring me and then asking me over to your barren, lonely apartment_ and _What on earth am I doing here?_ But then Erik is just staring at him, and instead of moving towards the kitchen he's stalking towards Charles, fast enough that Charles stumbles backwards, hitting the nearest wall.

"Are you quite all right," Erik asks, close enough that Charles can feel the words form in breath on his cheek.

"I'm perfectly fine," Charles says, and places his hand on Erik's cheek.

*

When Charles wakes up, Erik is gone. At first Charles assumes he's just gone to buy them breakfast or maybe for a jog, but his briefcase is gone, and so is the coat he left hanging on the rack. Charles isn't sure whether to feel offended or be grateful that he's spared the inevitable awkwardness of the morning after, considering how swimmingly their date had gone right up to the point when they got naked.

It's not even as if he's never done this before, left early to avoid the other person. Usually he'd just hang around the corner of his dorm building until the other person left. Charles can't imagine Erik skulking though. The kitchen's empty of anything edible, so Charles takes a shower instead.

"High pressure shower head, good job, Erik," Charles mutters, pleased Erik at least owns proper shower gels - he's half expecting industrial gym shower type gunk. He decides it's only slightly inappropriate to borrow a neatly hung up robe afterwards and wander around the apartment in his bare feet. Not that there's much more for him to spy on, Erik literally only stays here. Only the walk-in closet reveals any hints that a personality might inhabit this space. That, and a faded photograph he finds tucked under a notebook by the dresser: A woman, and a tall, thin boy clutching her hand that must be Erik. Charles smiles at it, and then his cell starts to buzz. "Shit," he says. "Shit."

"Oh my god I totally thought he murdered you and tossed your body into the sewers."

"Sorry, Raven. I am well and truly sorry. I know I should have called."

"I almost called the police."

Charles checks the phone briefly. "I see you didn't think to call me at any time though."

"Yes, well, what would have been the point? You were either getting laid or getting horribly murdered. Would you have answered either way?"

Charles hmms noncommittally. Raven doesn't sound like she was too concerned, but at least she's not giving him the silent treatment anymore. That's a start. "Look, I'll be home soon, okay. Just uh, go to the cafe. Don't you have a shift at two?"

"I thought I was grounded," Raven replies, her voice sulky again, in the split of a second.

"Do what you want. But I'll see you soon either way."

Of course, it's when he gets out of the apartment, walk of shame duly completed, that he realizes a) he doesn't have his car and b) he has no idea where he is.

On the cab ride home he swears all the way under his breath.


	2. Spring

"So what's this boy's name again?" Charles asks suspiciously, two days later, over a breakfast prepared by Raven that's only slightly burnt.

"Hank."

"And you say he's finishing his PhD? How old is he again?"

Raven rolls her eyes. "Relax, he's just a year older than me. He's super smart, that's all. Even," she adds pointedly, "smarter than you."

"But -"

"You're not my father, Charles. Surely I'm allowed to date. Besides, considering your behaviour recently."

"Don't judge me," Charles wags a finger at her. "Besides, I'm twenty-nine, and you're seventeen, and. And -" He sighs. "Try to be back by midnight. I'm not you. I _will_ call the police."

Raven smiles, and Charles always forgets how beautiful she is. "Speaking of indiscretions."

"No."

"No?"

"No we're not talking about Erik."

"You should call him."

"I'm not going to call -"

"What are you, the girl in this relationship?" Raven plants her elbows onto the table and her chin on her clasped hands. "Even girls call these days. I realize you live in some make-believe eighteenth century world, but you could just drop him a text."

"I," Charles says, flustered for a moment, enough to take that mouthful of eggs he's been avoiding. "I did text him," he admits, when he's drunk down enough orange juice to get rid of the taste.

Raven's eyes widen. "Really?"

"What? I'm not a girl, contrary to present opinion. I texted him, he didn't respond. Can we just move on?" He gets up and starts clearing the plates away.

"Maybe he's busy," Raven says dubiously.

"Maybe," Charles says, and fights the sour feeling in his stomach. Possibly it's just the beginnings of indigestion. "Let's just forget about Erik, okay?"

*

And so he tries, for the next three days that Erik decidedly does not show up in the morning for his cup of coffee and decidedly does not respond to Charles' first text, or his second.

"Man, you've been really grouchy recently," Armando tells him. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," Charles almost snarls. "Absolutely nothing. I'm going for a walk." He grabs his coat and storms out, seriously considering the option of hiring people closer to this own age from now on. Short, and closer to thirty.

Outside, it's far too cold, and eventually Charles stops pretending his body even wants to walk anywhere, and he just stands on the sidewalk, feeling cold and miserable and blaming - _Erik._

"Hey there," he says, grinning from inside of the car that pulls up close enough to Charles' feet that he has to step back. "How are you?"

"I'm -" There's an accusation on his lips, but it dies there because it sounds stupid even in his own head. "Fine," he settles on, cautiously. "And you?"

"Great." He pulls off his sunglasses and leans his head out of the car. "Sorry I didn't text you back. Was out of the country. Business." His expression switches to concern, or at least the approximation of it. "You're freezing, Charles. Get in."

*

"This was a bad idea," he says afterwards, face down on Erik's bed with Erik's body draped heavily over his back. At least he's warm now.

"Hrm?" Erik murmurs, and kisses his shoulder.

"Nothing. Didn't say a word."

*

When he wakes up this time, Erik is in the dining room, papers spread all over the table.

"I knew that table had to be for something," Charles says.

Erik glances up and raises a brow.

"It couldn't possibly be for eating. Since you don't actually have any food in the house."

"Sorry," Erik says, face turning distant as he returns to his papers. "Sometimes I forget to eat. Force of habit, I guess." He waves vaguely in the direction of his cell. "Janos programmed some take-away places into that thing. You can call whatever."

Charles slides into the seat nearest to him but picks up a piece of legalese looking paper instead. "What's this?"

"Work."

"Mergers and acquisitions, then?"

Erik looks surprised.

"I do know how to use Google, you know."

"Right, yes." He scratches absently at his face. "This is just - some pro-bono work. Makes the firm look good."

"I see."

Erik stills, his pen stalled halfway through a scribbled note. "And what do you see, exactly, Charles. Considering your reputation, I'd say Google was the last place you looked."

"No, it's actually surprisingly useful. And I guess I'm not the only one that knows how to use a search engine." Charles tries for a smile, but can't quite reach it in the face of Erik's deepening hostility.

Erik only says though, "That's hardly what you do, is it."

Charles reaches past Erik's frame, picks up the cell. "Why don't I just order us dinner." He almost makes it before Erik's hand snakes out, catches Charles by the wrist.

"Stay out of my business, Charles."

"Erik," Charles says quietly. "Let me go."

*

No one is more surprised than Charles when Erik shows up at the coffeeshop the next morning, exactly on time. Not after Charles left the previous night without having dinner. Awkwardly.

Charles just blinks at him for a while, waiting.

"What," Erik says finally. "Am I to stand here politely until you deign to serve me my cup of coffee."

"I'm not sure," Charles says. "Are you going to let me have a meal at least? I get cranky when I don't eat."

"You mean after we fuck?" Charles looks around warily, but the children are safely out of earshot. "You can have all the food you want, Charles. Just give me my damned coffee. Please."

*

"My sister has a date," he tells Erik, picking at a packet of fried rice with his chopsticks. His feet are propped against Erik's bare chest as Erik reads a brief, and Charles is willing to bet that this is the most use this couch has seen since Erik bought it. "With a boy," he adds pointedly.

"Fascinating. I bet you know all about him too."

"Well," Charles admits. "She's my baby sister. I have to ensure she's in safe hands."

Erik shifts, but when Charles makes to move away he circles an ankle with his free hand loosely until Charles settles down again. "What does the FBI have to say about that though?"

"The FBI," Charles snorts, "couldn't find their asses with a flashlight and a map." He pauses. "Look, it's just information. It's out there and it's free, and it's not good or bad. It just is."

"Well, with all your skills, Charles, it's a good thing you're putting them to such good use." Erik's gaze is hooded, unreadable. Charles blinks. "You should eat," Erik says finally, "Your food's getting cold."

*

"I don't see you anymore," Raven says.

"What?" Charles can't get the numbers to tally. It's stupid, elementary work, and he can't get them to tally. It's been driving him quietly nuts for the past ten minutes, and so when Raven repeats her words his only response is, "Well, you have Hank now. And I have -" He frowns, thinking.

"Yes?" Raven says, eyes brightening in anticipation. "Are you guys serious now? Dating? Friends with benefits? Benefits with benefits?"

"Your continued fascination with my romantic life, Raven, will never cease to amaze me. Please just go away."

Raven's mouth turns down into a tiny frown, but she gives up easily enough. Charles doesn't really want to spend time pondering what Erik and him are, exactly. Surely a relationship would imply more than just cellphone chess games and the occasional dinner. But then they have conversations too: Erik, eyes half closed and drifting off to sleep, talking about the photo of him and his mother.

"You would have liked her," he said, before his breathing evened out. "She would have liked you too." And that was the first time he ever saw Erik truly sleep. Charles brushed his hair out of his eyes and kissed his temple then, before turning off the light.

*

"You bought me a vase," Erik says flatly, one evening.

"Yes, I bought you a vase." He places it proudly on the pathetically bare side table. "You might want to put stuff in it. Like flowers."

Erik tilts his head. "Are you planning on buying me flowers, Charles."

"Flowers never hurt as a charm offensive, or so I've heard."

*

The first time Charles invites Erik over for dinner at his house Erik looks nonplussed. "What do you mean by dinner?"

"Dinner. The third meal of the day. Often used by homo sapiens as a means of gathering socially."

"I've been to dinner gatherings before, Charles," Erik replies stiffly.

"With people who aren't your business associates?"

Erik narrows his eyes and grabs Charles' wrist, pulling him down so he stumbles into Erik's lap. "Are you mocking me?" His mouth is curved against the nape of Charles' neck.

"No, I would never. Allright perhaps a little. Say yes, Erik. My sister is complaining I've abandoned her and she even promised to bring that boyfriend of hers along. Plus Armando said he has news."

"I thought this was to be you and your sister."

"Yes, but people tend to just show up. I cook for ten, just in case."

Erik mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _gathering strays_ , but says eventually, "Sure, why not."

"Wonderful."

*

Dinner turns out about as well as expected. Armando brings Alex along, and for some reason she develops a strange sort of animosity towards Hank, almost instantly. Hank reacts to it in his usual nervous manner, pushing his glasses up his face uncomfortably every time she speaks. It's fortunate then, that Charles had decided early on to sit them next to one another.

At least Erik seems to be having a good time. Or a close approximation of it. Everyone else certainly seems charmed enough, even Alex. At one point when they're having drinks his hand wanders towards Charles' knee, rubbing it through the material of his pants. Charles turns towards him, grinning, and almost misses the part where Armando tells everyone that Alex and him are getting married.

"I'm sorry you're what?"

"Married," Armando says, and beams. He takes Alex's hands and squeezes it proudly.

"Oh my god that's awesome," Raven says, and jumps up to give Armando a massive hug. "Isn't that awesome, Charles."

"Of course," Charles replies, his smile tight on his face.

Erik leans close to him, voice low in his ear. "Not quite the news you were expecting?"

Charles lowers his voice to match his. "They're children. What do they know about the responsibility of marriage, the dedication."

"They seem pretty grown-up to me," is the only reply. Erik turns towards where Armando is receiving a tentative back slap from Hank, followed by Angel practically launching herself into Alex's arms. "Have another drink, Charles. And stop frowning. They might think you're unhappy over their impending nuptials."

Charles ends up drinking maybe a little more than he should, but he was half drunk throughout gradschool, he can handle his alcohol well enough. They finally kick everyone else out at around midnight, even Hank, although Raven rolls her eyes when Charles vetoes her bringing him upstairs to for a while. "Whatever. It's not as if I'm ever going to do it in this house after that horribly awkward birth control talk you gave me," she says snittily as she's telling Hank goodbye.

She kisses Charles on the cheek before she trots upstairs, says, "Goodnight Charles," and then adds pointedly, "Goodnight Erik."

Erik.

Charles turns to where he last spotted the man, but he's not there. Instead there's an arm around him, body pressed against his. "You moved," Charles says, surprised. "You were there and now you're. Here. Hi."

"I think we should put you to bed, Charles."

"Fantastic idea. You know what else would be a fantastic idea? You taking all your clothes off."

"One thing at a time, Charles. Let's tackle the stairs first." The bed somehow appears, and Charles collapses on top of it, dragging Erik along with him. Erik protests, even when Charles lays kisses along the side of his jaw. "You're drunk. I'm not going to take advantage of you in this condition."

"Of course you can. Don't be such a fuddy - uh, fuddy duddy," Charles says, distracted in his attempt to unbuckle Erik's pants. It requires far too much hand-eye coordination, and finally he gives up and lays back. "You can just take your own pants off if you want to fuck me."

Erik's face appears above his. "I already said I will do no such thing. As adorable as you are wasted, I'd much rather you be awake when I fuck you senseless."

"I promise to stay entirely conscious throughout the whole thing," Charles insists. But his eyes are already closing, and the last thing he recalls before everything goes black is lips, brushing across the top of his forehead.

*

Charles wakes up naked and wrapped up in his sheets, head slightly aching and his mouth tasting sour. Ah, his favorite part of getting entirely blitzed. Surely he should have learnt better by now.

"Raven made you breakfast." Charles squints at the open door, and then at Erik with a tray of food in his hands.

"I see she's decided to just go ahead and murder me then."

"I tried the eggs, so yes. My sympathies." He puts the tray gingerly down on the table next to the bed, and Charles wonders how it is a man walking around in the same clothes he had on last night can look so put together. It must be some sort of weird voodoo. Possibly Erik has made a deal with the devil.

More likely, Charles is still a little bit drunk.

"I'm leaving. I'm late for work."

"You going home first or do you have a spare suit in your trunk for emergencies?"

Charles shakes his head when Erik doesn't respond, then winces. He pushes the side of his face into the pillow in the hopes it will alleviate the spinning. "Where did you sleep?" Erik waves in the general direction of the space next to Charles. "Did we cuddle? I bet we cuddled, seeing as how you were such a gentleman about taking advantage of me in my inebriated state."

Erik's laughter is entirely unexpected, and Charles decides he likes the man like this, smiling and thoroughly amused. "I really do have to go to work," he says eventually. "But you hold on to that thought until tonight."

"I'd be delighted to," Charles replies chipperly, or as chipperly as he can.

*

They start spending more and more time at Charles' house. Erik says at one point, when Charles quietly changes their dinner reservations to a location nearer to his home, "Charles, I do believe you have an agenda."

"Oh, I wonder why anyone wouldn't want to spend time in your barren wasteland of an apartment."

"Mine affords us more privacy."

"First of all, it's a big house. Second of all, are you kidding me? Raven loves you." In fact, Raven seems to like Erik far more than she likes Charles these days. Even with Hank around, she doesn't seem at all interested in her studies, refuses to abide to any sort of a curfew, and stalks around the house sporting increasingly drastic hairstyles.

"I don't understand her," he bursts out at Erik once. "I've given her everything she could possibly want."

"No, Charles," Erik says, as he tracks Raven's sullen stomp up the stairs to her bedroom. "I'm pretty sure you're giving her everything you could possibly want."

Charles scowls at him, not getting him at all, until Erik exhales, shakes his head. "I'm hungry. You promised me dinner, as I recall."

*

The second time Raven gets suspended from school, it's Erik that she calls, not Charles. Charles only finds out about it because the headmistress leaves him a message to call her back. When he does, she says, in a voice heavy with disapproval, "I wish you would come down personally instead of sending your - your partner. You are Raven's legal guardian, not him."

"My partner," Charles repeats. "Oh. Right. Well."

"Mr. Xavier, your sister's behavior -"

"Look, let's not pretend this is going to go anywhere else. I will drop by tomorrow. I will make a healthy donation to the school. You will suspend Raven for two weeks and she will promise never to do whatever it is she did that was so unforgivable it warranted all this fuss, and we will move past this. How does that work for you?"

Her response is flat, when it finally comes. "I'll schedule you in for a meeting at three. Please don't be late."

Charles rushes back to the house, and is surprised to find that he beat the both of them there. Fine, that gives him more time to stew. An hour later Raven finally strolls through the door, loudly giggling and with a melting ice-cream cone in her hand. Her smile fades when she sees Charles. "Raven, to your room." Her mouth opens. "Don't argue with me. Now."

"Go on, Raven. Listen to your brother."

She takes the stairs two at a time, and Charles makes sure he hears the sound of her door slamming before turning towards Erik. "Where were you."

"Raven was hungry. So we went for lunch. Then she felt like a walk and we found this lovely place, serves the best milkshake I've ever had. Of course, I was the oldest person in the -"

"Are you _joking?_?"

"What is it you'd like me to say, exactly?"

"It's not about what you should say now," Charles says. "The time for something to be said was three hours ago. When my sister contacted you, and you should have told her, Raven I think you should call your brother, not me. Or, Raven, I am going to call your brother, and we will sort this out together. So forgive me, but it's a little too late for asking me what I'd like you to say."

"Are you quite done?"

Charles thinks about that for a second. He's not, not even remotely, but it can wait. He waves Erik on impatiently, and Erik shakes his head. "Charles, you might want to consider exactly why your sister feels more comfortable with me than with you, seeing as how you're the person she's supposed to be closest to. The person she's supposed to trust the most."

"Possibly it has something to do with how I'd rather instill a sense of responsibility in her than take her out for a walk and ice-cream when she messes up. What could you possibly know about -"

"What, Charles." Erik's suddenly too close to him, invading all of his personal space. Charles feels as if the air is getting sucked out of the room, one breath at a time. "What could I possibly know about responsibility? Or being different? Or trying to survive in an environment entirely beyond your control?" His eyes flick upwards, to the corridor leading towards Raven's bedroom, before settling back on Charles.

"Please don't assume you know how I feel," Charles says tightly.

"Right. Because your stepfather bailed you out after you were arrested at eighteen for breaking into the DoD's security systems and you decided you'd spend the rest of your life hiding behind espresso beans and children."

"Right. Far better to isolate oneself from any type of human attachment. The tall, dark and mysterious stranger thing is all well and good, but how's being alone worked out for you so far?"

Eriks face snaps shut. "It's worked out fine so far. You're right though. This isn't my problem. I'm going to leave now."

Charles catches him by the sleeve of his jacket. "Are we fighting? Is that what we are doing -" A thought strikes him as his brain finally processes Erik's words beyond the sting. "How did you know about the arrest? They expunged my records. Only Raven - did she tell you?"

Erik only says, brushing off Charles' hand, "This isn't an argument. I have no interest in arguing with you."

"The door's right there. You're welcome to walk out of it. Just as long as you promise never to interfere with my sister's life again. If you'd rather leave, please do."

Erik does just exactly that.

*

The bachelor party is wild, but considering Angel's the one that set it up, Charles wouldn't have expected anything else. "I don't know how Angel scored us this joint," Sean says. "They've got the best girls in the entire city." At Charles' look he slaps him on the back, goes, "Relax, man. Dude's not even that hot. You should aim to get wasted, wake up naked and sweaty in the arms of one of these fine young ladies here."

"Aim low, then," Charles replies.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna go before you ruin my buzz. Later."

Charles decides his goal for the night is to (a) get drunk and (b) not think of Erik whatsoever.

As it turns out, (a) is frighteningly easy to accomplish. (b), not so much, considering that just as he's started to relax - with a beautiful, really, _beautiful_ stripper in his lap who had said, when he protested, "Honey, you're so miserable this one's on the house" - Erik shows up. Leaning next to the booth and watching them both with decided interest. The girl beams up at him, says, "Now you I'll have to charge," but Erik just waves her away. She shrugs and mutters, "It's like I have a radar for the gay ones. The military should pay me to weed you out."

"Don't leave," Charles says plaintively, but she's already standing up, brushing her miniscule skirt down as she saunters off.

Erik sits on the low table in front of Charles, elbows on his knees as he leans forward. "I don't think she's your type, Charles. Even she knows that."

"What do you know of my type."

"I know a little, possibly." Erik's voice is as smooth as chocolate, and Charles has to fight off the sudden urge to stick his tongue in his mouth. It must be all the alcohol speaking, because he's still pissed off, even though right now for the life of him he can't remember why. Especially not when Erik's knees are touching his and he's inching forward.

"You can't just bribe me with sex every time we have a disagreement," he snaps instead, moving his legs deliberately away from Erik's touch.

Erik looks disconcerted for a moment, as if Charles had disrupted his entire plan by pointing it out to him and now he has no backup. Which strikes Charles as hilarious, if in fact Erik's entire make-up strategy is: Show up looking good. Offer sex. All will be well.

"Do you even like me?" Charles asks. He gives up on pretending he doesn't need to touch Erik, slides forward until their foreheads almost touch and splays his fingers on the side of Erik's face. Erik doesn't flinch, but his intake of breath is sharp. "Because sometimes I honestly don't feel that you do."

"Uh, guys." Erik breaks away from him abruptly, his removal from Charles' space not just physical. Angel looks vaguely embarrassed. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think Sean's in trouble. I'm pretty sure he just proposed to some girl, and I think she said yes."

"Right, of course. I'll just. Of course."

"You should go. You're needed," Erik murmurs, hot in his ear. Charles takes Angel's hand, but not before he hears an unmistakable, "I do."

Extracting Sean from whatever he's gotten himself into is enough to sober Charles up, enough so that when he spots Erik, chatting genially with Hank, he waits for him to catch his eye and raises his brows at him. Angel, always observant, motions him to bend to her level. "Sean says you guys are pathetic, like lovestruck puppies. Please don't make me agree with Sean. So go make out or something, all right? I could get you a private room."

"Thank you, Angel," Charles scowls. "But when adults have disagreements we tend to need more than a making out session to resolve them." He waves his hand irritably in Erik's general direction. "That of course assumes that one party is mature enough to be considered an adult."

Angel pats him on his arm. Her expression seems torn between "I feel for you and your relationship problems" and "You're even more pathetic than Sean claims".

Charles sighs deeply. "Who invited him anyway. I certainly didn't."

"Not your party, dude," Angel replies unsympathetically.

*

It's four am by the time he makes it home, mostly because it's his responsibility to make sure that his barely legal employees make it home safe and sound. Erik had disappeared somewhere along the way, despite Charles' half-hearted attempt at reconciliation. It's fine, Charles doesn't care, it's not as if Erik even apologized.

But when he pulls into the driveway Erik's car is parked there, and the man himself is leaning against it, arms crossed and head bowed. He pushes himself off when Charles steps out, dutifully follows him into the house. Charles doesn't say a word until they're in the bedroom, and Erik shuts the door quietly behind them. Then he says, "This doesn't resolve anything. You can't just -" he waves vaguely at Erik's form.

"Okay." A beat. "I'm going to kiss you now, if that's all right with you."

Charles rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Clearly Erik hasn't heard a word he's said, hasn't learned a damn thing. He opes his mouth to tell him exactly that, but what comes out instead is, "Yes."

*

When Charles strolls downstairs in the morning, Erik following suit, Raven's standing in the living room, a bowl of cereal in her hands. "Great," she says happily. "I was thinking I'd have to put up with Charles moping for the next six months at least. There's only room for one moody teenager in this house, I feel."

"Aren't you late for school," Erik tells her.

Raven looks, briefly, betrayed. She only shrugs though, and shoves the bowl into Erik's hands before grabbing her schoolbag. "Leaving. Whatever, you two. Lame."

When she's gone, Charles wraps his arms around Erik from behind and kisses his shoulder. Erik twists around to face him, but he doesn't look happy. "What," Charles says.

"Nothing. I need to go. Errands." He extracts himself from Charles' embrace, leaving Charles more than a little confused.

"Are we okay?"

Erik's expression is unreadable, but he only says, "Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?"

*

The first time they make a lunch appointment Erik is late. Charles waits patiently in the lobby of his office building before he finally gives up and heads to the fiftieth floor. The view is spectacular, but when he tells the receptionist he's here to see Erik Lehnsherr she only looks blankly at him and picks up the phone, whispers anxiously into it.

The man that comes out to fetch him - Charles just stares at him as he waves him forward impatiently, then says, "You're the assistant."

"Yes."

Even the _accent._ How did Charles not know this. Possibly Charles knew this, and his mind entirely blocked it out.

Erik looks harried as they go through the heavy wooden doors leading to his office. "Janos, where's my - Charles. Damn." His expression turns apologetic. "Sorry, I entirely forgot. But I'm late for a meeting. You can uh, wait here if you'd like. I won't be that long."

"Sure, that's fine," Charles says, leaning deliberately against Erik's desk. "Maybe your assistant can keep me company. Janos, that's a lovely name by the way."

Janos starts, "Maybe I coul-"

"No," Erik snaps. "I need you in the briefing with me."

"But I thought -"

"Well I changed my mind." He narrows his eyes at Charles. "You. Wait here. Janos, _now._ "

 _Not long_ turns into two hours, and Charles entertains himself for the first ten minutes by breaking through the company firewall, then realizing that Erik would no doubt Not Be Pleased if he started on all the encrypted files. So he spends the next hour and fifty minutes texting increasingly filthy messages to Erik's blackberry.

He's about to start sending pictures, despite all of his instincts telling him how utterly stupid a move that would be - nothing is safe, ever - when the door finally opens and Erik sidles in. He looks exhausted, but his eyes are burning bright when he strides over and spins Charles' chair around to face him.

"Erik," Charles beams. "How nice of you to show up."

"Shut up." His hand is in Charles' hair, dragging him to his feet. "Just, shut up." Charles shuts up. At least until Erik grabs his chin and forces it upwards. "Did you enjoy going through my computer."

"I would neve-" Erik kisses him then, hard and bruising, and Charles shudders. He's been waiting for this for two hours. Since forever. He bucks up against Erik and and moans desperately. "The door."

"It's locked," Erik grinds out. "Turn around."

"Fuck," Charles says, and does as he's told. "Fuck."

*

It's a Tuesday night when Erik disappears for four days. He's disappeared before, and Charles hasn't looked for him, even though he could, because everyone's traceable, even men as deliberately elusive as Erik.

Day five though, and he starts to get worried. Day five and he starts looking, only to be hit with nothing. Not a plane ticket, not a credit card receipt, not even a phone call. Erik has gone entirely off the grid. He stares at the laptop screen for a while, unsure what to do with such utter blankness.

Day six, and when Erik staggers back into his apartment Charles is waiting for him, playing with the keys Erik had unceremoniously dropped into his hands one day. "Where the _hell_ have you been?"

Erik only stares at him impassively. "You know everything, Charles. Tell me where I've been."

"But that's just it, I don't -"

Erik walks pasts him without pausing, clicks the bedroom door quietly shut.


	3. Summer

"He can't just _disappear_ for five days and not expect me to care, or wonder where he is. Relationships just don't work like that. Trust doesn't work like that."

"Oh, well. Everyone knows you're all about trust, Charles." Raven's playing with her breakfast instead of eating it, carving up the pancakes into uniformly square pieces and stacking them up, one by one, into a tiny mountain.

Charles wants to tell her to stop it, but he no longer has the energy. "Was that sarcasm? That sounded like sarcasm."

"Remember when you were convinced that the delivery guy who kept hitting on you was an FBI informant?" She taps gently on the pancake mountain and the entire pile falls into a messy heap.

Charles winces. "He kept asking me personal questions."

"Yes, because he was trying to get you to sleep with him." Raven sighs. "You really should have been born with a face more suited to your personality. It probably would have saved us both a lot of grief. And the poor bastards who wanted in your pants."

Charles isn't sure whether he's just been complimented or not. Raven pats him reassuringly on the arm, says, "But look how much better you are now. You haven't even dug into his finances yet." She pauses. "Have you?"

"No," Charles admits. "Wait, weren't we talking about Erik's trust issues?"

"We _were_ ," Raven says smugly. "My point is that everyone is entitled to their secrets. Maybe you can give him some time."

"I feel I've given him plenty," Charles mutters under his breath, but Raven has stopped listening.

"You know, if you two get divorced, I want to go with my other dad."

"That's funny, Raven. Very funny."

"Hank and I broke up, by the way," she says softly.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Yeah." Her smile twists, turns strange and bleak. "Remember that day when you showed me those papers you had forged. The paper trail you made up so that I was your sister for real? That was the happiest day of my life, Charles."

"I remember."

"I'm dropping out of school."

"Oh," Charles says. "Okay."

*

His phone beeps after the worst of the lunchtime rush is over.

 _I'm sorry. Dinner tonight?_

 _Pick you up at eight_ , he texts back, and spends the rest of the day resolutely determined not to issue any suggestions to Erik, beyond: "Your suit looks fantastic on you, but I bet it would look better on the floor."

When he picks Erik up from his office and they have the usual tussle over who should drive, the owner of the car or his control freak partner, Erik gives in amiably enough, which is unlike him. "Is everything all right," Charles asks, as they're seated at Charles' favorite restaurant; again, Erik hadn't argued with the choice.

"Everything's fine."

"So I'll just order for the two of us then." Charles picks up the menu and peers over at Erik from above it, but he doesn't seem to be listening. "Ooh, lobster."

"Hm?"

"Lobster it is, then. To quote my sister, 'awesome'."

Erik finally turns back to Charles. "I was paying attention," he says, grabbing the menu from Charles' hand. "No shellfish. Jesus Christ Charles, aren't you in a mood today."

"Funny, I was going to ask you the same question."

"I'm just trying to be agreeable. It's what you want, isn't it."

Charles exhales slowly. "No, Erik. It's not what I want." But Erik's got a slow little smile on his face now. "What, dammit."

"You're very cute when you're annoyed. Your cheeks turn as red as your lips and there's that little frown on your face." His smile fades away slowly at Charles' glower. "To be clear, Charles. I am not ashamed to admit I'm not good at any of this. My experience with domesticity is somewhat limited."

"Really? I'm shocked." He reaches across the table and takes Erik's hand, not caring who sees. "I'd like you to trust me, if only a little."

"Charles," Erik replies, and his stark honesty is almost painful. "I've never trusted anyone more."  
*

Charles gets the call in the middle of the night. Wakes up to his cell ringing and Alex practically shouting into the phone. Charles only gets a few of the words _accident_ and _Darwin_ and _hospital_ , but it's enough to wake him fully. Raven is at the door before he's even got his clothes on, her face drawn and worried. "Sean called me," she says.

"Did you get which hospital?"

She nods her head. In the car, she says, "I called Erik. Earlier, while you were getting dressed."

"Oh. Why?"

Raven shoots him a strange look. "Are you guys fighting again?"

"No," Charles says. Erik disappeared again, and when he returned and gave Charles a call he let it go to voicemail. Erik didn't call back. "It's - complicated." He shakes his head. "Now's not the time."

Raven says, "Armando is his friend too."

Charles is starting to doubt if Erik actually sees any of them as friends, but he doesn't want to correct her, so he keeps silent, continues to drive.

*

Erik is there before them, surprisingly enough. Alex is slumped on a waiting room chair and Angel has her arm around her shoulder. "How is he," he asks Alex, but it's Erik who replies.

"In surgery. Someone ran a stop sign and blindsided him. We don't know anything else yet."

Sean appears with a bottle of water in his hand, hands it silently to Alex, who clutches it in her hands but doesn't open the cap. Raven sits down on Alex's other side and places her head on her shoulder. Charles tears his gaze away from the three of them and searches out Erik, who only shakes his head.

An hour later and Charles has had five cups of coffee, and there's still no news. At some point Erik says, "You should take your sister and go home. There's not much we can do here."

"Are you leaving?"

"I have a court appointment at nine. I should have left two hours ago." He looks at his watch and sighs.

"So you're actually leaving?"

Erik lowers his voice. "Are you seriously going to give me that puppy-dog expression right now just because I haven't decided to stay the requisite amount of time required for me to be considered a good friend? You do realize that I don't actually know him that well."

Charles says, low and furious, "Then why are you here?"

Erik's face snaps shut. "Are we still talking about Armando?" He grabs Charles by the elbow and pulls him aside.

"No, of course not." Charles shakes his head. "My friend is hurt and the doctors don't know if he's going to make it through the night or not. This is what I want - no, demand from you, Erik. I demand your support. I demand you hold my hand, and tell me everything is going to be all right. If you can't do that then possibly you should leave."

Erik hugs him. It's unexpected, and tentative, and probably the most awkward hug Charles has ever been the recipient of in his entire life. Strange, that a man he's been intimate with countless times, who knows exactly where and in what manner to touch him to drive him up the wall, to make him come apart, would have such difficulty in such a simple thing as a hug. Charles falls into it anyway. Wraps his arms around Erik's waist and feels the weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying come off in waves. In his ear, Erik whispers, "I'm not going to tell you everything will be all right."

"I know." There's something else he wants to say, but he doesn't. They finally break apart, and Charles almost feels guilty because this isn't the time or the place for confessions of any sort, even thoughts of them. Charles clears his throat. "I think I should go and find the doctor, see if he has any news."

*

Fridays are always bustling, today exceedingly so because Armando isn't here to hold the fort. Charles barely has time to breathe, for all that people keep coming in, demanding to be mainlined coffee, or sandwiches, or cake.

"Charles," Angel calls out to him at one point. "Tell Sean to stop hitting on me."

"Sean, stop hitting on Angel," he calls back, running out from behind the counter to deliver some change while looking behind him, where Sean is spreading his hands apart in mock innocence. "Sorry," he says automatically as he bumps into a hard body. The body doesn't move away though, nor does it respond. "Erik," Charles says, finally registering.

"Hello."

"Wow, okay, listen, it's great to see you but I don't really have the time right now. Come back, I don't know - you can drag my dead body from here after the hungry hordes had their way with it."

Erik grins, and when Charles makes to move away he pulls him gently back. "Can I help?"

"What, you?" Charles says dubiously. "But your suit is so nicely pressed."

Erik only takes off his jacket and starts rolling up his sleeves. "Put me to work, Charles. I'm all yours." He tugs at his tie and unbuttons the topmost button on his shirt. "You can make it up to me afterwards."

*

Armando, as it turns out, is going to be fine. "I'm not that easy to kill," he tells them, grinning wide. He turns to Alex and says, "Baby, check out all the cool scars I'm going to have."

Alex mutters, "He's too stubborn to die," and clutches at Armando's hand.

There's a familiar looking vase on the table, filled with a bouquet of brightly colored flowers, with a hand-written card on it that Charles idly picks up. "Erik dropped by earlier. Said he couldn't stay though."

"Yeah," Charles replies, and can't help the smile that spreads across his face. "He's a busy man, that Erik."

*

Two days after Armando is released from the hospital, Erik asks Charles over for dinner. Or rather, Erik texts him in the afternoon, _Dinner, my place,_ and it strikes Charles then that possibly he should expect more from a relationship than a dinner invite that's little more than a badly disguised booty call. A last minute badly disguised booty call. He contemplates all of this while trying to remember if Erik liked him more in the blue or green sweater, but by the time he's ready to leave it almost doesn't matter anymore. "Good god, Charles, do you not have any self-respect whatsoever," his mother would probably say, but she was married three times so Charles is just going to go ahead and ignore her disapproving voice in his head.

Erik isn't back yet, so Charles lets himself in and settles down on the couch with one of the few items Erik always has in stock, a bottle of wine. He finishes half of it before he starts nodding off and must have missed the front door opening because he's jerked awake by a hand gently prying his glass from his fingers. "What - what time is it."

"Eight."

"Really?" Charles yawns and struggles to keep his eyes from closing. "You're not even that late. I'm impressed."

"I brought dinner. And," he waves in the general direction of the dining room table. In place of the usual mess of papers there's a candlestick - or rather the candlestick Charles bought for Erik, entirely because Erik has become increasingly blasé about all the effort Charles has been putting in, and so Charles has been going crazy with the decorating. Once, he'd plopped down some awful looking and yet disgustingly expensive thing he'd stumbled across at some furniture mall and said, "Look, even I don't know what this is, but it's decorative."

Erik had looked at it for a while, face unmoving, and said, "I think it's an ashtray."

"You said that about the last three - things," Charles had replied.

"One of those actually was."

"Honest mistake."

The candlestick is a work of art though. Charles is particularly proud of that one, although he's entirely certain it's not meant to be used with an actual candle. Possibly that explains all the broken red wax on the table. Those _candles._ He remembers buying those too.

"When did you do all of that?"

"While you were sleeping." At Charles' incredulous look he adds, "I was stealthy. And fast. Come on, we don't want the food to get cold."

Some time during the excellent Italian delivery from the restaurant around the corner, Charles runs out of casual conversation to make. He's inclined to ask about Erik's day, but that line of questioning never goes well, so instead he twirls the stem of his wine glass between his fingers and brings up the subject he's been avoiding for weeks now. "I'd like to know where you go when you disappear."

"Would you, then."

"I think I deserve to."

"I could just lie to you and say I'm going away on business. Would you prefer that?"

Charles sighs. This is exactly how he'd pictured this conversation as going. "Or you could just tell me the truth. It's not such a novel concept, Erik. I mean, how bad could it possibly be? What are you, a secret spy or something? It can't be the CIA, you'd have a better cover than that if you were." Erik's face shutters, and Charles gives up. "Fine. Just fine, let's never talk. Thank you for the lovely dinner at least."

*

Afterwards, in Erik's bed, because he's nothing if not consistent in how easy he is, Charles kisses each of Erik's fingers in turn, and says, "It doesn't have to be that difficult, you know."

Erik's expression turns from post-fuck haze to serious in about a second. "How much do you know, Charles. Honestly."

"Honestly?" Charles puts Erik's hand on his chest, chooses his next words carefully. "I didn't dig that deep. I know your mother died when you were twelve. I know you were raised by your stepfather. Beyond that -"

Erik's laugh is hollow. "She died when I was ten," he says. "It just took her body two years to figure it out. Shaw, he just didn't want to deal with her. Not that he couldn't, he just didn't want to. Her illness was inconvenient. So I had to watch the cancer eat her away, while he was out chasing ghosts." His voice turns further inward. "She waited for him to come back, right until the end."

Charles squeezes Erik's hand, still trapped on his chest. "I'm sorry."

"Why," Erik says, and the hand turns into a fist, hard as stone. "It's not your fault. It's Shaw's."

*

Three days later, Erik calls from an unlisted number and says shortly, "I'm leaving."

Charles is in the middle of a coffee supply crisis, so he just replies distractedly, "That's wonderful. Are you going - wait, what?"

Erik sighs. "I'll be back on Friday. Look, my flight was scheduled for boarding about five minutes ago."

"Are you on a payphone? At the airport?" Charles asks.

"Yes. I'll email you when I get there."

"Which is?"

"I have to go, Charles. I'm already late. I just wanted you to know." Charles can hear him breathing over the phone.

"Have a safe flight," he says finally, before Erik hangs up.

*

Saturday, not Friday, and Erik calls him on the way back from the airport. "Are you driving? I know you hate to use that bluetooth device I bought you -"

"It makes a man look ridiculous, Charles. Talking to oneself."

"It also prevents car accidents if you're drivi-"

"Oh for heaven's sake Charles, I'm in a chauffeured car and we're pulling up outside your little coffeeshop right now so if you'd get your ass outside immediately I would appreciate it."

"I'm kind of busy, Erik," Charles replies pettily, even though it's been an unusually slow day and Charles has mostly spent his time hiding in the backroom playing Angry Birds and missing Erik.

"But I - it's been a long week, and I want to see you." Even over the phone, Erik sounds exhausted. "I'll find a parking spot and come in if you're that busy."

"No, I'm not. I'm walking out, okay." He he grabs his jacket and waves a hasty goodbye to Angel, who barely looks up at him. Outside, the car's just pulling up. The back door opens and Charles climbs in, takes the phone that's still in Erik's hand and tosses it, as well as his own phone, onto the seat. "Hi," he says, just a little out of breath.

"Close the door."

Charles dutifully obliges as the divider separating the passenger from the driver's side slides up. "Fancy."

"Shut up," Erik says, and pulls Charles into his lap.

*

Charles ends up in Erik's empty office on Monday, randomly going through the files that Erik so carelessly left open on his computer. It's Erik's fault, he should have known better than to push his luck and expect Charles to behave after being so cruelly abandoned once more.

"Last minute injunction, I truly am sorry," and Janos shaking his head in the background as if Charles were some lonely housewife desperate for attention. Or possibly he just wanted to prevent Erik from being late. Charles taps the keyboard furiously, and at some point he starts taking notes. He doesn't notice Erik coming in until he's leaning over Charles' shoulder, low warning in his voice when he says, "Charles."

"It's just that I think you'd have a far easier time finding the collection if you went directly to the auction house records," Charles says.

Erik leans against the desk and turns over Charles' PDA. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes," he mutters. "And I'm supposed to just ask the Swiss nicely to hand over their records? Because clearly I haven't tried that before."

Charles furrows his brows. "Why on earth would you ever bother even asking."

Erik stares at him.

"Uh," Charles says, finally looking up. He waves vaguely at the PC. "So, this. This is what you do when you're not working seventy-hour weeks and harassing your PA? You're Bruce Wayne?" He's had about a half-hour to think about this, and yet he's not really _thought_ about it.

"This is what I do, Charles." Erik clears his throat. "Hardly Bruce Wayne, but it's important to me."

"And you've hid this from me because -" Charles knows very well why, but he just wants Erik to come right out and say it. He swivels in the chair and purses his lips, waiting.

"Well, some of it isn't exactly legal."

"You don't say. But you just leave the files open for me to find." He pauses. "Let me rephrase that. That's mighty careless of you, Erik."

"Charles," Erik replies. "Did you really think I left those files open by accident." His foot shoots out abruptly onto the chair, halts Charles mid-swivel and open-mouthed. "You asked me to trust you. Repeatedly."

"I did." He grabs Erik by the tie, tugs on him until he has to fold his tall frame awkwardly down to eye level, hands gripped on the armrests for balance. Erik doesn't blink once. "I know a little bit about operating outside the accepted parameters of the law," Charles says, leaning in so he can catch the scent of Erik's cologne, the way the underlying scent is always faintly metallic and sharp, but in a pleasingly distinctive sort of way.

Erik responds by turning his head away until Charles remembers he has the tie in still his hand, and he twists it until Erik turns back to him. "You don't say," Erik replies, finally focusing his gaze back on Charles. Charles doesn't quite know what to expect, but it certainly isn't a slow smile and a murmured: "Now, you were telling me about that auction house."

*

It's only the one simple hack, he tells himself as he's re-routing signals and bouncing off data centers. He's being helpful, and for a good cause too. No harm done, surely. Until of course, Erik says, with a disturbing gleam in his eye, "The painting's in Paris, is it. Well, there go our plans for the weekend, Charles."

"Wait wait, you're going to Paris? Why don't we just alert the authorities or something." He scratches the back of his head. "The FBI, perhaps. Don't look at me like that."

"I promise to call," Erik murmurs, and pulls Charles close. "Maybe we can even do that IM thing you enjoy so much."

Charles tilts his head back curiously. "I thought I was coming along."

*

Disappointingly, they don't join the mile-high club on the endless flight to Paris. Instead Erik spends the entire time focused on paperwork and plans and leaves Charles to curl up on the seat next to him, watching The Dark Knight for the twenty-fifth time.

At some point he leans over to Erik and whispers, "Say 'I'm Batman,'" but Erik barely even looks up. The only time his gaze focuses on Charles is almost three hours in, when he abruptly turns his laptop in Charles' direction. "What do you know about this alarm system?"

"What do I - nothing," Charles hisses. "I'm not a thief."

Erik only looks mildly disappointed. He massages a crick out of his neck and says, "That's fine, I can do it. But if you could just bypass the -"

Charles takes another look. "No, yeah. That I could do."

*

It's not until they're pressed against the outside wall of a heavily secured private home that it hits Charles exactly what they're going to do. "This is illegal," he tells Erik, for about the fifth time. "We could go to jail. I don't want to go to jail, Erik. Especially not a French jail."

"Why," Erik says, stepping back to gauge the height of the wall. "You're already halfway to being European. French prison would suit you. Not that it'll come to that."

"We should just try the official channels. Due process. I'm told it exists," Charles tries one last time, but a part of him can't help but notice how good Erik looks in what must be his official felony-committing gear. He'd tossed a similar outfit to Charles earlier and, when Charles balked at the ski-mask, told him to just roll it up, there wouldn't be any cameras there. Charles wasn't going to take any chances, but now he feels just a little bit silly, especially since Erik doesn't seem to care at all about revealing his face.

Erik finishes surveying the wall and says, "I was planning on a hook and rope, but with the two of us you could probably just boost me up." His gaze lowers to Charles. "Probably."

"I still can't believe we're doing this," Charles says, twisting his fingers together so Erik can put a sneakered foot in his palms. "Ow. My shoulder."

"Sorry."

"When I told you I wanted to take our relationship to the next level, I didn't mean this."

Erik reaches a hand down from his newly established perch on top of the wall to pull Charles up. "I don't recall you using the words 'taking our relationship to the next level', Charles. You look ridiculous, by the way." He drags the mask up to Charles' forehead and nods approvingly. "Better."

Charles blinks as the cold air hits his face. "What now?"

"Now we go to the other side," Erik replies, and pushes him off the wall.

*

"I can't believe we just did that," Charles says as they're driving off, trying to ignore his heart hammering against his ribs. The stolen painting - newly reappropriated painting, he has to keep telling himself - is tucked safely in the back seat. "So this is going to your - contacts now?

"Yes."

"Who'll return it back to its rightful owners or their descendants?"

"Yes."

"And if there's no-one?"

"Museum gets a surprise donation. Everyone's happy."

"I think I'm having a heart attack."

"You're not having a heart attack."

Charles can't stop looking back, fully convinced that the police are on their way, that sirens will sound and he will never see Raven or the rest of the kids again. He glances over at Erik, who's barely broken a sweat. "How can you be so calm?"

Erik takes his eyes off the road long enough to flash a grin at Charles. "I'm Batman."

*

A week later he starts buying tech, and it makes total sense to set up a server room, access-key only. Raven glares suspiciously at him, "What on earth are you up to, Charles. First you run off to Paris for two whole days, then you disappear to Iowa - who goes to Iowa voluntarily, for god's sake, and now this. Are you starting with that fetish cartoon porn thing again because that was creepy as hell -" This in front of Erik, who raises a silent brow.

"It was anime," he tells Erik. "Deeply philosophical tales about the meaning of life and uh, other stuff."

 _Porn_ , Raven mouths silently, miming huge boobs with her hands in front of her chest.

"You're banned from the room," Charles snaps. "And you too, if you don't stop laughing."

Raven just snorts. "Well I'm off to work. You two behave," she says, before she kisses Charles quickly on the cheek and skips out. "And make sure he eats," she calls back in Erik's direction. "He'll disappear for days if you let him."

Erik raises his fingers in a half-salute. "She's in a better mood," he comments when she's gone.

"Since she dropped out of school. It's remarkable. We don't know what she plans on doing with her life, but at least she's happy."

"You worry too much," Erik says, his thumb tracing the line of Charles' throat.

"Uh-huh," Charles replies, suddenly far less interested in discussing Raven. Not when Erik's pushing him up onto the table and dropping gracefully to his knees, in that beautiful suit of his. "This means a lot to you," he says, reaching out to touch Erik's brow.

"Deeply motivated, I suppose," Erik says, his hands drawing aimless circles on Charles' pants. The hands still and Erik's eyes snap up. "And what about you, Charles."

"I run a coffeeshop," Charles says. "It seemed like the safer option. Better for the blood pressure."

"And now?"

"And now there's this. And you."

Erik swears under his breath, and turns his cheek into Charles' wandering palm.

*

It's Charles' birthday. It's Charles birthday and he's celebrating it in a van. It's Charles' birthday and he's celebrating it in a van, listening in on Erik flirting with a woman who might or might not know someone who is selling a Monet that used to belong to a family in some part of Germany he can't even pronounce. He'd gotten a bevy of messages from everyone, including some people he barely knew, but Erik doesn't seem to remember, even though Charles had pointedly moaned more than once about turning thirty. Thirty, for heaven's sake.

"Your earrings are lovely," Erik is saying, and Charles can just picture him leaning in close in that awkward manner that he calls flirting. Sometimes Charles can't wait for Erik to get old so that he'll have to rely on something other than his looks to get people to fall at his feet. Some charm, perhaps. Effort. But then the bastard will probably age well. "It's my birthday today, Erik," he says out loud, finally. "Happy birthday to me."

Erik ignores him, which isn't his fault, but it irritates Charles even further nonetheless. The night drags on, and Charles idly hopes Erik will trip into a bowl of soup and also wonders how many laws they're breaking right now. Not that Charles is new to breaking laws, but the reason he never fully got immersed in the life back then was a) he didn't have the stomach for it and b) for the most part he never could quite muster the type of stringent anti-establishment ideology most of his supposed peers had wallowed in.

Erik finally returns back to the van, cheeks faintly flushed and a small smile on his face. "I have an appointment with her seller tomorrow."

"So I heard," Charles says dryly. "You also have an appointment with her in her hotel room later tonight."

Erik grins, and in two swift strides he's on Charles, dragging his head back to kiss him wildly. "Terrible headache," he says, when he stops to drag Charles to the floor. "Deepest apologies."

Afterwards, Erik reaches into his backpack and produces an envelope from the depths of it. "For you," he says gruffly, tossing it into Charles' hands.

"For me? Oh, Erik, you really shouldn't have. I'm all aflutter -"

"Shut up." Erik glowers at him.

"Should I open it now?" But he's already carefully picking at the seal. He frowns at the contents briefly. "Erik, these are plane tickets."

"I recall you complaining you didn't get to do any sightseeing while we were in Paris. So I thought maybe after the wedding, if you want to."

"These are vacation tickets?" Charles asks suspiciously.

Erik sighs. "Yes, Charles. We can see the fucking Eiffel tower if you're so inclined. Like actual tourists. I booked hotel rooms as well. For ah, a week."

"But you never take vacations."

"Okay, maybe this was a bad idea."

"No, hey." Charles puts his hand on Erik's arm and pulls him close, puts his head on Erik's shoulder, breathing in his scent. "I'm too old for it now that I'm thirty, but if I weren't I would totally fuck you again."

*

It's strange, running around with Erik all James Bond like one moment and then being home the next day, expected to be Charles Xavier, mild-mannered coffeeshop owner. Armando recovers well enough to get back to work, and shortly after that Charles just promotes him to manager and gives him the run of the place. "Look, I trust you to take care of things," Charles says, when Armando raises his brows at him.

"No, I know you do. But we kinda miss you here. Why is it that I'm the one getting married and you're the one disappearing."

Charles pats him on the arm; deftly, or so he hopes, avoiding the delicate subject of why exactly he's neglecting his duties to his own shop. "How are the wedding arrangements going, anyway."

"Yeah, about that," Armando says.

Which is how, because apparently he's a sucker who can't say no to a heartfelt question from a friend, he ends up agreeing to be the best man for a wedding that's due in about three months.

"So," Erik says disinterestedly when Charles announces the news to him. "Isn't your entire job just to pick out the rings? Surely you can handle that."

"Except that Alex apparently also seems to think I'm the wedding planner - she's got me choosing flower arrangements. Also, guess who's responsible for the cake. Erik are you even listening to me?"

"No," Erik replies shortly. "I'm trying to find out if there's anyone left alive who knows where this shipment of lost gold might be, so I'd much prefer if you'd just settle down and put your not inconsiderable skills to good use instead of going on about color swatches." When Charles gapes at him Erik seems to finally realize he's said something wrong. His brow furrows. "What?"

Charles snaps his jaw shut. "Nothing. Forget it. It's not important." He throws himself into the chair next to Erik's. "Tell me all about the lost treasures we're about to hunt down."

Erik continues to frown at him. "Look, Charles. This isn't easy work. It's time consuming, and fraught with difficulty, and -"

"Far more important than making wedding arrangements? Or the rest of my mundane little life?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I kind of think you did."

*

When Charles comes home, he finds Raven sitting crossed-legged on his bed, surrounded by letters. All scribbled in the same dainty scrawl; Charles knows what each and every one says even though he'd promised her he wouldn't read them. She's clutching one to her chest, tears falling down her face. "Why didn't you ever show any of these to me."

"I tried to, remember. I told you she'd been sending them. You said to burn them, that you would rather not think of her at all."

"Then you should have just burnt them." She wipes furiously at her face with an unsteady hand. "The last one came yesterday. You usually pick up all the mail, but since Erik - and there are a couple of tickets I ordered and - and it was just there. Postmarked _Taconic Correctional Facility._ "

"I'm sorry, Raven. I truly am." He braces himself for an outburst of rage, for her to tell him, once again, how unfair it all was, and for him, once again, to try and fail to make her feel better - he misses, suddenly and with a sharp sort of acuity, how easy it used to be to comfort her when she was upset, or cried, or was afraid. A kiss for a scraped knee and a hug for a nightmare. Now all he has are words that mean less than nothing.

Raven does no such thing, though. Instead she starts pushing her hair back out of her face, and he can almost see her mentally putting herself back together again. Her next words still manage to send him reeling. "She's getting out," she says. "They granted her parole."


	4. Fall

It's Raven's idea to go for the picnic. "In the park," she says. "It'll be nice." She's been distant and strange ever since, so Charles makes room in his schedule, completely forgetting that Erik had also texted him about meeting up for the weekend. But then again, considering it's Erik, nothing's ever concrete until the man's actually standing at the doorstep.

Which, at eleven am, he is. Sunny smile and sunglasses, and Charles stutters, "Erik, I completely forgot. I forgot."

"Actually, Raven called me."

"I figured it'd be more fun with the three of us," Raven says from behind Charles. She slips past him to give Erik a brief hug, and Charles hadn't been aware they were up to hugging levels of intimacy, but apparently they are.

At the park, Raven busies herself setting up blankets and tupperware containers, which gives Charles enough time to pull Erik aside. "I'm sorry about this," he says. "I know this isn't possibly the way you wanted to spend your Sunday."

"As a matter of fact, this is exactly the way I wanted to spend my Sunday." He drags Charles forward by snagging a finger underneath his belt. "Let's just enjoy it, shall we," he murmurs, hot in Charles' ear. "It's a lovely day."

"Get a room, you guys. Jesus," Raven calls. Which is an idea Charles finds quite appealing right now, if he's being honest. He ends up making himself comfortable by sitting up against a tree, Erik's head cradled in his lap.

At some point a wayward frisbee ends up on their blanket. Raven picks it up as a boy comes running over to fetch it. "Sorry," he says breathlessly, in heavily accented English. His smile widens when Raven leans up to hand it back to him. "Did it hit you?"

Raven beams. "No, no harm done."

"Thanks," the guy says, and when he jogs back towards his friends Raven sighs. Charles frowns.

The second time it happens no-one in the group seems to be aware that the frisbee had barely avoided hitting Charles in the head. Raven says quickly, "I'll return it to them." She's gone before Charles can open his mouth to say a word, almost trotting in her eagerness.

"Is my sister flirting with that guy," Charles asks suspiciously, watching as Raven passes him back his frisbee once again and then just stands there talking to him instead of coming back to where she belongs.

Erik turns his head and squints at her, "Possibly, yes. He's cute, if you're into that vaguely European thing."

Charles laughs and threads his fingers through Erik's hair. "Why would anyone be into that." He forces his attention away from Raven as he can almost feel her glaring her stop-being-an-overprotective-douche glare at him even from this distance. "Love the outfit, by the way." Erik had shown up in tan pants and a navy-blue polo t-shirt. "Do you even own a pair of shorts?"

"God no," Erik shudders. "Those are for peasants." Charles laughs again, and when Erik starts making noises about being hungry Charles reaches into the picnic basket and starts feeding him grapes. Raven trundles back eventually, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

"He's amazing," she gushes, ignoring Charles' unimpressed glower and speaking directly to Erik instead, who looks interested rather than gravely disapproving, which is really the only appropriate reaction.

"No more grapes for you," Charles mutters, but Erik slaps at his hand until he relents. "Tell me about this amazing stranger you barely know," Charles tells Raven finally.

She plops herself down next to him and says, "He's a history major at NYU. Asked me out for lunch tomorrow." Charles opens his mouth.

"Shut up you're not the boss of me." Charles shuts up. Erik, wisely, keeps silent as well.

When Erik wanders off to get some bottled water Raven says, "You guys seem happier now."

Charles shrugs, suddenly uneasy. "Do we?"

She nods her head, watching Erik as he chats with the food cart guy. "Don't fuck it up, okay. I like this one."

"You've said that before," Charles points out to her. "And I'd point out that it was mostly Erik's fault."

Raven snorts. "As if you don't enjoy it more when they don't return your phone calls."

Charles opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Asks instead, "Have you thought about what you're going to do with -"

"No, I don't know." She shrugs and tucks her hair behind her ears. "I'm holding off until after the wedding."

"Holding off what? Raven -"

"Can we talk about this after the wedding, please?" Her voice is angry and desperate, and Erik is on his way back as it is, so Charles decides to let the matter drop. He starts to turn away but Raven grabs him by the arm and lifts it so she can tuck her head under his shoulder. Charles squeezes her tight and kisses the top of her head. "This overprotective brother act of yours, it's not cute anymore. I hope you know that."

"I know," Charles admits. "But it makes me feel useful."

"Oh, Charles," Raven says, and it breaks his heart to hear it even though it's true. "I can't always need you."

*

Erik stays the night over, and when Charles wanders into the kitchen in the late morning he's sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and browsing through a newspaper. Charles does a double take, turns around and goes back up before coming back down. "I was just making sure that I wasn't still dreaming," he says, at Erik's raised brow. "Had to pinch myself too."

"Why don't you have the papers, Charles," Erik says, putting down his cup. "I had to bribe the delivery boy to sell me your neighbor's. He has a great future in criminal enterprise, by the way. Took me for five dollars."

"Why would you want backdated news when you can get up to the minute reports from the internet." Charles ignores Erik's look to slump down into the chair across from him. He makes puppy expressions until Erik sighs and gets up to pour him a cup of coffee as well. "You're a lifesaver," he says, gulping down the hot, rich brew. He reaches over and squeezes Erik briefly on the arm. "Sorry, I'm still convinced I'm dreaming. It's," he checks the clock, even though he knows perfectly well what time it is. "Nine. And you're still here."

"I took the day off," Erik says. "Don't gape. It's rude."

"Make me."

Erik leans down and kisses him, slides his tongue softly into Charles' already open mouth. He tastes of coffee and toast, faintly of marmalade. Charles moans into Erik's mouth, shoves himself up and off the chair so he can loop his arms around Erik's shoulders to pull him closer still. "Where's Raven," he mumbles, as Erik is untying his robe to tug on his pajama bottoms. "She's made me promise that I'm never to - _oh._ "

"Out somewhere. Not here." He shoves his arms under Charles' shoulders and lifts him up onto the counter, settling in between Charles' open legs. "Stop talking."

"Okay."

*

At some point Charles had just considered hiring an actual wedding planner, but apparently he doesn't even have time to get that right, so now he's standing in a bridal shop after a panicked phone call from Angel, feeling exceedingly awkward. Especially when the very helpful assistant goes, "Are you the groom, then," and Raven laughs, covering her mouth with both hands.

"Well hey, it is legal now," Angel says, kicking Raven gently in the shin, and they both start giggling. It's absolutely disgusting.

The very chirpy, very blonde shop assistant claps her hands excitedly. "Oh, so you're the gay brother."

Charles tries not to roll his eyes. "Yes, that's the entirety of who I am. The brother who's gay."

Raven smacks him on the hand and whispers, "Be nice, she's giving us a huge discount."

"Why are you talking about me to some random assistant," Charles hisses.

"Your name came up," Raven replies airily. "You are the wedding coordinator, aren't you? She thought it was a bit weird, you being the best man and all, but then I told her you were gay, and now you're _fabulous._ "

The assistant bustles up again and gives him a blinding smile. "Mr. Xavier, what do you think, should we go for the white dress with the ocher accents or the pale peach with the pink ones."

Charles frowns. "The bride has informed me under no circumstances - Alex, what do you think?"

Alex looks up from playing with her phone in the corner of the room and makes a face. "No white."

"No white," Charles sighs under his breath. "You heard the lady."

If it were up to Alex, Charles knows, they'd just elope. But Armando will never get married without everyone he loves being there. Angel skips over to Alex and grabs her by the hand, "Come on, we need to try on hats," and even Alex can't resist Angel's cheerful infectiousness.

The assistant says doubtfully, "Is she going for eggshell perhaps? Pale pink?"

"Last time I checked she was considering all black." He shares a scandalized look with her. "Young people today."

Raven cuts in. "Oh Charles, sometimes I forget you're a fifty year old in a thirty year old body."

"Look," Angel says, emerging from behind a massive row of wedding suits. "We've found the perfect suit for you and your groom to be, Charles. You should try it on."

"I -" Charles says, gaping at her. "I have to go." He turns to leave, barely avoiding collision with a mannequin sporting a giant ruffled dress, then actually colliding with Erik, who grabs him by the arms to steady him and murmurs something warm into his ears. "Erik," Charles says, even more disconcerted than he was two seconds ago. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Your sister called me," Erik says. He doesn't comment when Charles pulls away from him, only says, "I'm sorry I'm late. Got held up."

"Erik," Raven calls out ecstatically. "You're here. Thank god, Charles is being his usual grumpy self, it's driving us nuts. Come rescue us."

Five minutes later, Erik is happily discussing accent shades with Raven - and Charles is feeling increasingly uncomfortable with how at ease Erik seems, talking about the difference between eggshell white and off-white as if it somehow mattered - until Raven stage-whispers, "Don't mind Charles, he's just worried that someone's going to question his masculinity. Like you could get any more heterosexual than that sweater."

"I have no such worries," Erik murmurs, smiling brilliantly at the assistant, who practically _swoons_.

"The two of you make an adorable couple," she says, then adds, "If you ever plan to get married - well, those suits your friend pulled out really are perfect," which is the last straw.

"I need some air," he says, and stalks out in as dignified a manner as he possibly can. No-one even notices he's leaving. Even Erik ignores him in favor of pondering bouquet placements.

He only waits in the car because he'd promised Raven a ride home and possibly, maybe, since he hasn't seen Erik in about a week, they could spend some time together as well, once he's done deciding if pink is still in fashion. It takes them another hour, which passes relatively quickly since Charles still has some planning to do for the next job. Erik knocks on the window and Charles rolls it down obligingly.

"I told my driver to leave," Erik says. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"But it's my car," Charles protests, but he knows it's a futile effort at resistance. Erik is far more likely to wear one of those frilly wedding dresses in the window than to allow Charles to give him a ride anywhere. He says it's because Charles drives like an eighty year old, but clearly that's not true. Raven clambers into the back seat as Charles awkwardly deposits himself into the passenger side. "Took you guys long enough," he mutters.

"You could have stayed and helped," Raven says.

"It's not my fault I don't know the difference between tulle and lace."

Erik says, "Well, actually tulle and lace are completely - you are really cute when you pout, Charles."

"I hate all of you." Raven opens her mouth. "Especially you." When she stretches out her hand and surreptitiously low-fives Erik, Charles mutters, "Both hands on the wheel, thank you." They both have the nerve to laugh at that.

Erik drops Raven off at their home, but places his hand across Charles' chest when he tries to get out as well. Raven leans into the front window and Erik says, "Your brother and I are going to go for a ride, is that okay with you?"

Raven grins and leers at Charles. "Oh please, take him. He's always in a far better mood after you guys, you know." She saunters off as Charles slumps deeper into the seat.

"Well, this has been a fantastic day so far. I need a drink, please take me someplace with alcohol."

Erik shifts in his seat and peers at Charles. "Do you have problems with being perceived as being in a committed relationship, Charles? Or being perceived as gay."

"Erik, we've been out in public how many times already? Everyone knows I'm gay, trust me." He opens the glove compartment, just to have something to do, then slams it shut again. "Besides, you're the one that's constantly running away, not me."

Erik's smile is wry. "But I'm here now. And you don't seem all that happy."

"We're going to psychoanalyze me? Really. You, especially you." He doesn't want to talk about this. He wants a drink.

"No, of course," Erik says neutrally, and shifts the car into gear. "What right do I have to make any kind of observation on your behavior."

*

He visits his mother's grave only the once every year. Raven used to come with him, but now he tells her he'd rather be alone. It's not entirely true - she still thinks he comes here because he misses her and not because of anything else. A small lie like so many other lies he'd told her that somehow became too entrenched in how she saw him that he can't possibly tell her the truth now.

A familiar looking car pulls up nearby as he's kneeling to pull out some stray weeds. He watches as Erik gets out the back seat and heads in Charles' direction. "How did you know I was here," he asks, frowning as Erik gets closer.

"Tracked your phone."

"Really?"

"No, your sister told me."

"Ah." Erik looks amazing; startlingly vibrant in this place where Charles goes to contemplate all of his mistakes. "I don't know why I come here. I loved her and she - tolerated me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Just ask the men she married so she could find an excuse to send me away to boarding school." He rearranges the flowers he'd placed in front of the headstone. "I went to see a therapist once, because I couldn't get over her death. He said it wasn't grief I was feeling, it was suppressed rage. He also said I would always fall for distant, unattainable men until I dealt with it. I promptly developed a crush on him, so that didn't work out too well." He pauses. "And then Raven came along, and everything changed."

Erik crouches down onto the grass beside Charles, seemingly uncaring that he's muddying up his spit-shiny shoes. "So you just adopted her."

"She had no-one. Neither did I. Why are you here?"

Erik says softly, "I'm not unattainable, just so you know." He puts his hand on Charles' chin and tilts his head up. "I'm trying. I - I want to try. And I've no intention of going anywhere."

"That's great. I'm really - that's great," Charles says, fighting down the sudden feeling of panic in his chest. "We should go."

"Okay." Erik stands and holds his hand out for Charles to take.

*

The next job is in London, two days after they've finally decided on a color theme. Or rather, Alex decided that she's really into red, and more red, with maybe a little white thrown in for contrast. Charles makes it work, somehow.

"The mark", Erik says after they've landed at Heathrow, "She knows my face so I guess it'll have to be you. I hope you brought something nice to wear." Obviously Charles did not. But he has a credit card, and all those years of being forced to attend one social function after another as the dutiful firstborn means that when he comes out of the bathroom Erik whistles softly under his breath and goes, "Well, don't you clean up nicely, Charles."

Charles buttons up his jacket and smirks, "You don't know everything about me."

Erik leans down and whispers into Charles' ear. "Don't get too comfortable. She has a reputation that's not undeserved. Get in, clone her phone, get out. And if you're good -"

"If I'm good, Erik," Charles lowers his eyes and gazes up from under his lashes, "Maybe I'll let you take me to bed."

Which is how he ends up telling a very unimpressed Emma Frost about the nature of the coffee bean, to which she pats him on the back of his hand and goes, "That's nice, dear. Call me when you've figured out a better pick-up line."

Charles gapes after her as she saunters out and snarls at Erik, who's chuckling into his earpiece, "That was not funny."

"It was to me. Did you get the phone cloned at least."

"Sure, I can do that at least - oh my god what."

Emma Frost, it seems, has skills other than the ability to shrivel a man's balls with a single withering glance. "I can't believe this," he says, later in the van, frantically trying to undo the damage her virus has wrecked. "It's really stellar work. Diamond-like precision, almost -"

Erik grabs his chin, forces his face towards his. "Focus, Charles. I need this fixed."

"I can, obviously. It'll just take time."

"How long?"

"A few hours. Maybe half a day." He turns back to the screen, hopes Erik will just be quiet so he can focus.

"We don't have that much time. Once it's changed ownership, we'll have to start all over again."

"Then I guess we - wait, where are you going?" Charles follows Erik out the van mostly out of curiosity, partly out of sheer terror at the look in Erik's eyes.

"Did you say she was in room 317?"

"I'm sure I did not. Erik, for god's sake. Stop this. What do you hope to accomplish."

What Erik hopes to accomplish, apparently, is to knock on the door and, when Emma opens it, shove her deep into the room without allowing her to finish her smug little, "Mr. Lehnsherr, what a pleasure to see you again."

Emma starts, but recovers quickly. "Fine, let's skip the pleasantries. What do you want, Erik? And you," she turns on Charles. "Now you're a surprise." Her gaze switches from Erik to Charles and back again before she rolls her eyes. "Oh god, really? Nice hack, by the way. Better luck next time."

Charles grimaces, and decides he doesn't like this woman one bit. And not just as a matter of pride, either. "I was out of the game for a while. Give me some time."

"Sure, honey. You take all the time you need."

Erik shuts the door behind them and points at the bed. "You, sit."

"Fine." She perches herself delicately on the edge and crosses her legs. "I suppose you're here for the Monet. Do you ever hate being so predictable, Erik?"

Charles says, "Erik, we should go."

Erik ignores him. He drags a chair over and sits across from Emma. "Who's the seller? I want his name, now."

Emma's face changes, a smile tilting at the corners of her lips. "Ah, yes. I hate to disappoint you again, but it's not your father. Poor little Erik, the lost little sheep looking for -" And that's when Erik leaps off his chair and throws her down onto the bed, his hand wrapped around her throat.

"Erik, what are you doing," Charles says, blinking in shock. "Erik, let her go. _Now._."

"Grab her phone, Charles. It should be in her bag."

"I will do no such thing, you will release her and I -" Everything he's about to say dies right there when Erik turns to him and he sees the expression on his face. Charles almost runs to the bag, finds the phone tucked neatly inside. Emma's stopped making choking noises, so he must have loosened his grip a little, but Erik's leaning in and whispering something in her ear that's making her shake her head violently in protest. "I have it, okay," Charles says, locating the data he needs in record speed. "I have what we need. Please let her go."

Erik finally releases her, and she sits up gingerly, her hand to her throat. She doesn't seem to know when to quit though, because the next words she says are, "I know where he is. But I'm not going to tell you."

Erik starts once more in her direction, but Charles grabs hold of his arm just in time. It's close, Charles can feel his muscles tense and he's pretty sure Erik wants to wrench himself away, but finally he just shrugs and says, "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Frost."

*

On the flight home, Charles asks, "What did she mean, about your father," and Erik slams down the magazine he's been reading.

"What, no questioning of my methods?"

"No," Charles admits. "That was coming up next. You assaulted a woman."

"Emma's fine." He tilts his head in Charles' direction before continuing, "I'm sure she's lived through worse."

"That wasn't my point."

"Did you think this was a game, Charles?" Erik's voice has turned low, dangerous. "You write your little programs and pretend real people aren't involved? Sometimes violence is necessary. It happens. Welcome to the real world."

Charles says, "Don't lecture me. I'm not immature simply because I don't believe it's necessary to choke someone in their hotel room."

"Well sometimes it is," Erik says flatly, as if the matter is entirely closed.

Charles stares blindly out of the airplane window for a while, but finally he turns to Erik and says softly, "I don't know if I can live with that."

"You don't know or you can't?"

Erik's watching him carefully, and Charles replies with as much honesty as he can muster, "I don't know."


	5. Winter

Charles spends the next two days immersed in planning how to break into the safe of an excessively fortified house and, "What does he keep in there, the crown jewels?"

"Something like that, I would imagine." Erik puts a plate next to him "Your sister's right. Eat before I forcefeed you."

Charles glares defiantly at him, but picks up the fork anyway. "I'm done, by the way. What would you do without me?"

Erik reaches out to brush a stray hair out of Charles' forehead, and if he notices Charles' involuntary flinch, he pretends otherwise. Instead he only says, "I'm not sure," and sounds as if he means it.

"When do you plan to go?"

"Soon." Erik drags him up by the lapels of his shirt until he's standing, faces about an inch apart. "Are you absolutely sure you're done?"

"Transferring the files as we speak." Charles tries for a sunny smile. "Are you going to give me a present for being such a productive boy?"

"That was the plan, yes," Erik says, and drops to his knees.

*

It wasn't even that hard, really, to figure out, once he'd started gathering intel. Sebastian Shaw aka Klaus Schmidt aka Alexander Bischoff is a very accomplished thief and con-artist who has spent the better part of two decades profiting in stolen art and other priceless baubles. "The submarine," Erik tells him. "Was to be his perfect, final score. He'd tell me how his father would talk about a great treasure, a ship that was lost at sea filled with loot that the Nazis gathered before the start of WWII. Me," he says, his face twisted up into a smile born of years of pent up rage, "His little Jew of a stepson. But that didn't matter to him. My mother dying, that didn't matter to him either. All he saw was that prize."

Charles puts his hand to Erik's jacket, tugs him closer so that they're touching, but only just. "I can help you find it, if that's what you need. If that will bring you some measure of peace." Erik grabs both his wrists in his fingers, twists them behind Charles' back and pushes him back until he hits the nearest wall.

"And what of Shaw," he murmurs, his breath hot against Charles' temple.

"Why do you need Shaw," Charles asks, genuinely surprised. "You can take what he's been looking for his entire life. That's enough."

Erik releases him abruptly, and when he steps back there's a strange, distant expression on his face. "Charles," he says. "You have to understand. I need this." He leans forward to kiss him on the forehead. "Let's not waste our time discussing this. We have work to do."

Charles wants to press the matter, but in the end he just says, "Of course we do."

*

Two weeks later, and Charles can't remember the last time he had a conversation with Erik that wasn't about Shaw. "Look," Charles snaps one evening, "I'm not a machine. I have a life and like I've said before, I want to help you find the U-boat, but I am not going to help you find Shaw."

Erik looks stricken for an instant, as if Charles hasn't been telling him the exact same thing in mostly the same words over and over again. Perhaps then it has finally sunk in. "But if we find Shaw," he says eventually. "Surely it will lead us to the U-boat."

"He hasn't been able to find it for over two decades, Erik. What makes you think he's even close to it now." Charles sighs, before sliding his tablet over towards Erik. "I, on the other hand, know where the manifest is."

"Where did you get this?" Erik picks up the tablet and stares at it as if it will reveal Shaw's whereabouts if he only shakes it hard enough.

"So the thing is, the people that have the manifest, do not have any of the loot."

"Must you use the word loot, Charles," Erik asks tiredly.

"Yes, yes I must. Pay attention. This is where it gets good. It's a pretty interesting story, filled with blackmail and thievery and betrayal." At Erik's frown he sighs, "But of course you don't care about any of that. _Because you are obsessed_." He slides his finger across the tablet to reveal another image. "The upshot of all of this is, the people that have the loot can't actually sell any of it, because it means that they're taking the risk of exposing themselves to the people that have the manifest. Deeply unpleasant gentlemen, by the way." Charles shudders, while Erik continues to look vaguely constipated. "My point is -"

"Your point is we need to steal the manifest," Erik says.

"Well, yes." Erik doesn't respond, so Charles tells him, "This is the part where you call me a genius, and kiss me."

Erik finally tears himself away from the screen. He sounds uncertain when he says, "I thought we were still -" He doesn't finish his sentence, instead he takes two steps forward says, "You're a genius, Charles," and kisses him.

*

Erik tells him to scout the place and identify weak spots in the security system. Charles puts on a tuxedo this time, for the black-tie event held at the mansion that he manages to wrangle an invite to by calling a family friend who knows someone who knows someone else. "That works?" Erik says, a line appearing in between his eyes.

"Old money," Charles clarifies. "Incestuous as they come. Works to my advantage, sometimes."

"I could have just bribed someone," Erik growls.

Charles rolls his eyes.

Except when he's in, he finds - "Erik," he hisses. "The security system is a lock and a guard."

"Okay," Erik says, seemingly not to understand the magnitude of this problem.

"What do you mean okay? It's a lock. And a guard. Who does that? What is wrong with these people? Erik are you listening to me?"

He hears a choking sound, and at first he thinks something's wrong, but then he realizes - "Erik are you laughing at me? That's not funny. What do I do?"

After an interminable length of time, during which Charles has to listen to Erik try to control his mirth, Erik finally tells him gruffly, "Nothing, Charles. Get out. I'll handle this from here on."

"Oh, okay." He scowls at the guard for a minute, willing him to turn into a security system that he can crack, before spinning around and heading back outside. In the van, he asks Erik, "So what's the plan now."

"Now," Erik says, and he sounds terrifying in his determination. "You sit here and yammer at me about wedding invitations and I will show you how real men get work done."

"Well I don't know about you, but I am certainly all aflutter at the mere thought of your upcoming display of manliness." Charles smirks, until Erik drags him into a kiss, hard and demanding. "You're not playing fair," he says, adjusting his tie so he appears less flustered.

Erik flashes him a grin. "No-one ever said life was fair." But he looks a little flustered himself, and he just stands there staring at Charles for far too long, until Charles has to shoo him out.

"Go," he says "Steal us a manifest."

"I have to wait for the party to be over, first. We have a fair bit of time yet."

"Hmm." Charles puts his finger to his lips. "Whatever will we do to entertain ourselves in the meantime?"

In the end, it's the lack of remorse that gets to Charles. Erik's sprawled in the chair, bandage wrapped around his knuckles. The manifest is in front of Charles but he can't bear to look at it right now. "I'm not sure why you're so upset. It's not as if I killed the man."

"You broke his arm. And his nose."

"They'll heal."

Charles flattens his lips. "Once again. That's not the point."

"And once again, I fail to see the point other than that you don't have the stomach to do what needs to be done." Erik's tone of voice is calm, matter of fact. Charles would probably have preferred it if he'd been agitated, or angry. But he's not. Instead he cricks his neck and says, "We have the manifest. Now is not the time for cold feet or for you to have some kind of crisis of morality. I'm this close."

"I can't," Charles says, and when Erik makes to interrupt him he holds up his hand. "The man was just doing his job, Erik."

"No," Erik says. "He was doing a job he was paid to do, because of a choice he made. These are not nice people. They are not going to give in just because you convince them your cause is just. They don't give a fuck about you. I guarantee you he's done far worse to someone else in his life."

Charles stares at him for a while. Finally, he says, "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm not cut out for this." He takes a deep breath, continues. "I'm going home, Erik."

*

He leaves all the information he's gathered behind for Erik. They've already planned most of it, but as he tells Erik before he picks up his bag and leaves the hotel, "You've been doing this on your own since far before I knew you. You hardly need me now." Daring Erik to say something, anything. But he only slides his hands into his pockets and looks away.

"I bought two tickets," Charles says. "If you change your mind."

*

The flight home is long, and lonely, and when Raven picks him up from the airport the first thing she asks is, "Where's Erik."

"He's not with me." He shrugs as he slides into the passenger seat of the car. "It's not working out."

"So you just left him there?" She sounds confused, and a little annoyed.

"It's complicated," Charles says, not particularly wanting to get into it right now. "Please keep your eyes on the road." Raven drives with the fearlessness of the teenager convinced she's immortal. Charles grips the seat handle as she takes a particularly rough right turn.

"Of course it is."

"What?"

"What nothing," she says, taking both her hands off the wheel to wave angrily at him. "Just. I can't believe you just left him there."

Charles says tightly, "For heaven's sake Raven, I would appreciate if you'd not get us killed. As for Erik, you have no idea what happened between us and maybe you'd like to not jump to conclusions before you accuse me of anything. Why must you always assume it's my fault."

"Uh, your track record? None of your relationships have ever lasted longer than six months. Do you think maybe that's like, a problem? I mean, I thought Erik might be an exception but whatever, I guess not."

Charles has to laugh. "Great, just great. My seventeen year old sister is lecturing me on commitment issues. This has been a fantastic week so far. I can't wait to see how the rest of it pans out."

Raven gives him the side eye before she presses her foot on the accelerator to beat a yellow light. Charles puts his hands to his face and groans.

"I just kinda wish you'd want to be happy, Charles," Raven says, after they miraculously make it through the intersection without dying horribly. "Erik's really cool."

Charles says, "You don't know a thing about him."

*

Erik doesn't call him, and he doesn't call Erik. They still play phone chess though, and Erik still sends him awful spam, _Forward this email to ten people and you can save a child's life_ , from his office address.

It's not a lot, but it's something. It's comforting at least, even as his bed remains empty and he continues to miss the sound of Erik's voice and his presence next to him and his stupid, beautiful face.

The only thing that keeps him mostly occupied is the rapidly spiraling out of control wedding. Armando keeps saying, "Really? Are we sure about this, Charles?"

"I got this. No, really. I got this." Two thumbs up and he'll duck into the back room to avoid any more questions.

Raven asks one morning, "Don't tell me you're still fighting."

"We're not fighting," Charles says, tired. "He's busy and so am I, and also," he pauses, takes a breath. "Just because you want to be with someone doesn't mean you're meant to be."

"Oh," Raven says, and she sounds sad. "I'm sorry. I really liked him, too."

*

A bubble pops up on his dashboard, one unseasonably warm October day. A reminder, he'd programmed in Jewish holidays and celebrations at some point, simply because it wouldn't have occurred to him to remember otherwise. Erik's still number two on his speed dial; he steels himself as he picks up the phone and presses the button.

"Charles," Erik says. "It's been - a while."

"Three weeks, to be precise."

"Yes." He sounds tired, and alone.

Charles clears his throat. "Why are you at home, Erik. Unless you have people over, and it doesn't sound like it."

"How do you know I'm home."

"Tracked your phone."

"Funny."

"No, I did."

Erik sighs over the phone, but instead of the speech about boundaries and respect that he usually gets, he says, "My downstairs neighbour likes to bring me cake. I'm not sure why. I never talk to her."

"Is the cake any good?"

"It's a little dry. It's cake." He pauses. "I go to synagogue, later. I don't - it would have mattered to her."

"Do you want me to hang up?"

"No. Stay."

*

Erik texts him, three days later. Charles ignores the text until he shows up at the coffee shop around closing. "Hey," Charles says, walking around to the back to throw away the garbage bags.

"I texted you to let you know I was dropping by."

"I know. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I didn't."

"You called me."

"I know." He closes his eyes briefly as he tosses the garbage into the bin and slams it back shut. Erik looks good. Surely he shouldn't look _better_ than how Charles remembered him. Reality was usually disappointing compared to golden-hazed memories. "It was a mistake, probably."

"I see."

"What do you see, exactly," Charles spins around and crosses his arms. " _You_ could have called."

"You wanted an apology. I wasn't ready to give one."

"And now?"

"Charles -"

Charles shakes his head, but when he tries to walk past Erik to get back inside he's stopped by gentle but insistent arms. "I could do this on my own, Charles. I always have. But I -" The hitch in his breath is difficult to bear. "I want you with me. I want you."

"Because I can help you get Shaw?"

"Is that what you think?" He sounds angry suddenly, his face flattening.

"I don't know what to think, okay," Charles says. "I've had a lot of time to think, these past couple of weeks." When Erik wasn't distracting him by being Erik.

Erik shakes his head, says carefully, "I saw you, that day."

"What?"

"I had a meeting, in the building across from the coffee house. And you were walking down the street, and you had those ridiculous fingerless gloves on that you love so much. You were on the phone and you walked right past me. I thought you were going to go into the coffee shop to grab a cup, and I waited for you, but you never came back out."

"I don't know - what am I supposed to do with that information? Am I supposed to - I need to go."

"Nothing about us was _planned_ , Charles. Nothing. You don't have to believe anything else I say. But believe that at least."

"And even if I believed that-"

"Believe it."

"I believe you. But you won't change, and I." He draws a breath. "I don't know where your limits are, and I can't live with that. I'm sorry. I need time," Charles says, before he changes his mind. Before Erik pulls him closer and everything else fades away and it becomes entirely reasonable to just stay. "I'm sorry." Erik releases him abruptly and Charles steps back, flees into the safety of the coffeeshop.

*

Two days before Charles dismantles the server room for good, he encrypts a file and sends it to a database that he's not supposed to know about. Raven says, "So I can use this room for my pilates again?"

"All yours," Charles says. He tilts his head at her. "You look nice. Are you going out?"

"Just the gang. You should come along. It'll be fun."

"Maybe later," but he knows he won't. Instead he sits down at his laptop and carefully pries into a life he has no business prying into, not anymore. _You made your bed, Xavier,_ he tells himself, more than once. But he's always been shit at letting things go.

*

The wedding day dawns, bright and clear. Charles is up early in anticipation of any last minute touches or mix-ups. By the time he's made a few phone calls, showered and changed he's already running slightly late. He knocks on Raven's door tentatively as he passes by and sticks his head in when she calls out, "It's not locked."

Raven's standing in front of her mirror, putting on a pair of earrings. "You look lovely," Charles says.

Raven grins. "I'm so grateful Alex decided on the red instead of that godawful ochra."

"Hey," Charles protests mildly. "I liked that ochra."

"That's for brides who hate their bridesmaids, Charles. Just because ugly bridesmaids dresses are the tradition doesn't mean we have to always stick to them."

Charles glances briefly at his watch before deciding a few minutes won't hurt. He walks over to her and kisses her on the cheek. She starts. "What was that for?"

"An apology, I suppose. I've not been the best brother. Not the brother you needed, anyway."

Raven's smile is sad. "I know you tried your best, Charles. You took me in when I had nobody else."

"Well, I had to. No-one has ever managed to break into my house before. The security risk. It was either that or kill you."

"I just -" Her smile fades away entirely. "It's just not that easy."

"Tell me about it." Charles draws a deep breath and blinks away the sudden wetness in his eyes. "You're my sister and I will always love you." He crooks his elbow for her to slide her arm inside. "Come along, Ms. Xavie- Ms _Darkholme_. We have a wedding to attend. Musn't be late."

"With pleasure, Mr. Xavier."

*

Charles is so busy the rest of the day he barely thinks about Erik at all until at some point, during the reception, Angel leans over and whispers to Raven, loud enough for Charles to hear, "I kind of wish that Erik cat were here."

"Why," Charles interrupts, shooting her a look.

"He might have stopped you with those birds."

They all lift their heads to watch the white doves take flight. "Maybe those were a little excessive," Charles says defensively. When Raven snorts, he says, "Oh come on. They were a package deal with the white tent, okay. Almost free."

"I wish I could have taken away your internet privileges," Raven tells him, grinning. She leans over to Angel and says conspiratorially, "He used to do that to me because he was worried internet predators would seduce me and steal my virtue. Little did he know, there wasn't much virtue to be stolen." Raven and Angel exchange a high-five.

Charles tugs on his waistcoat and tries his best to remain scandalized. It doesn't work. Raven leans close to him though and says softly, "I do wish he were here."

"Me too," Charles replies, surprised at himself even as the words pop out of his mouth. He's been doing so well, studiously keeping his thoughts of Erik to the bare minimum of maybe twice a day, telling himself that if Erik could survive thirty-odd years without Charles, he would certainly do fine without him once again. Regardless of the look on his face the last time Charles saw him, or how he's reverted back to barely leaving the office at all to the point of having all his meals at his workplace.

Or why it is that, despite him having read the file that Charles sent him, Sebastian Shaw remains alive, if not well, in Las Vegas.

He shakes himself when Raven starts frowning in concern, says, "Hey, at least we still have each other, right? Who needs Erik."

Raven's face wavers briefly, before she hugs him tight and says, her voice quietly choked, "Yeah sure. Fuck 'em."

"Raven -"

"Not today, Charles." She pulls away and adjusts his tie. "Come along, it's time for you to dance with me."

The rest of the day passes by in a mostly pleasant, alcohol-tinged blur. Charles toasts the bride and groom at some point without embarrassing himself too badly, drinks some more, twirls Alex and then Angel around the dance floor once or twice, and finally they see the happy couple off in a hail of rice and well wishes. Raven hitches a ride back with a surprisingly sober Sean because Charles has to stay behind to settle with the remaining crew. "Promise you'll call a cab," she says, before she leaves.

"I'm not drunk," Charles says.

"Please." Her brow furrows. "You want me to stay? Because I can."

Charles waves her away. "I'm fine, mom. I promise to take a cab, okay." He takes out his phone and shakes it at her. "See, calling one now. Now go."

When she's gone and Charles finally manages to wind everything down, he slips into the backseat of the waiting cab, and when the driver asks, "Where to?" Charles blurts out an address that he knows by heart. It's late enough that he knows Erik will be home at least, and possibly even awake, considering how little he sleeps, but when the cab pulls out he can't bring himself to get out. "Dude, you leaving or what?"

"No, just. Keep the meter running, okay. I just want to sit here for a while."

"Whatever, man. It's your dime." He picks a newspaper up from the dashboard and cracks it open, resolutely ignoring Charles. Charles leans his head out the window, tries to see if he can catch a glimpse of Erik's apartment, just to check if the lights are on. He's so focused he misses the cab driver's words and has to ask him to repeat it. "I said," the man says patiently. "If you love her enough, you gotta take that chance. I mean, she might throw you out or call the cops, but at least you'll know."

"Speak from experience, do you?"

"Me, nah. Married twenty-five years. Woman's a nightmare."

Charles exhales quietly. He's exhausted suddenly, every ounce of energy in his body drained. It's over, finally. No more swatches to compare, no more dealing with caterers and florists and fickle brides. Armando and Alex are off to Paris, and Charles is. Charles is alone, in the back seat of a cab, willing himself to get out even as he knows he's incapable of doing any such thing. "Just. Drive," he says, and rattles off his home address.

"You sure?" He snaps the newspaper shut and raises his brow questioningly in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes," Charles says, resolute. "Yes I'm sure."

*

Everything is supposed to go back to normal, except Charles has been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while now, and it comes about a week later. Far, far too soon. He doesn't expect it to hurt almost immediately, seeing Raven sit at the bottom step of the staircase, a suitcase that looks as heavy as she is by her feet. "I wanted to wait until after the wedding," she says.

"I know."

"I tried to pack light," she tells him, unsmiling. Her eyes are red but her gaze is clear, determined.

"Considering it's you, I'd consider the one suitcase an accomplishment."

"I'm sorry," Raven says finally, when Charles can compose his face. "She's my mother, and she needs me. And I need to be - I called her, and she said she has family. That I have family. Not that you're not my family. You'll always be my brother, Charles. Always." She sniffles. "Shit. I promised myself I wouldn't cry again."

"That's all right. At least I won't be doing it alone." She jumps into his arms then, and it takes him a while before he can bear to let her go. "I love you," he says fiercely. "Remember that. If you ever need anything, anything at all."

"I know who to call." Her laugh is watery, tinged with amusement. "You'll be there to fix it for me."

"I'll certainly try."


	6. Epilogue

Charles is clearing up some files, settling in for his monthly habit of back-up and encrypt, when the IM pops up.

 **Magneto:** Why did you sell the coffee shop?

He starts to panic immediately. No-one knows this IM account, not even Raven. His fingers are reaching for the kill-switch when another IM pops up. This one says:

 **Magneto:** Calm down. I am not trying to hack your WOW avatar.

Charles can't help the smile that breaks across his face, about as immediate as his initial panic.

 **ProfX:** First of all, you can't hack a WOW avatar. Well you could but not mine - I don't even play anymore how on earth did you break through my firewall.  
 **Magneto:** Magic?  
 **Magneto:** A little birdie named Emma. Why did you sell the coffee shop?  
 **ProfX:** Some guy told me once I spent my life hiding instead of finding a purpose.  
 **Magneto:** Did he? What a jerk.  
 **ProfX:** Magneto. Really?  
 **Magneto:** I have many skills. You don't know all of them.

Charles wants to argue the point, but he's too busy setting up the same IM system on his phone.

 **ProfX:** BRB.  
 **ProfX:** That means be right back.  
 **Magneto:** I did know what that meant.

Done. He barely remembers to grab his coat as he walks into the garage. The tank's full, thank god. But then, as he slides into the front seat, it's not as if he can drive and type into a tiny QWERTY keyboard at the same time. A cab then, provided he can get one at this time of the night.

He types _Back_ , as he's searching for a cab. Fortunately, it doesn't take long before one pulls over for him. Charles gives the driver the address and sinks back into the seat, every nerve ending alive. More alive than he's felt in weeks. Months, even. He must look ridiculous, this smile on his face, unable to even get his coat properly buttoned. Not that he can truly bring himself to care.

 **Magneto:** I never thanked you for the cake leftovers you sent from the wedding.  
 **ProfX:** I know how much you love red velvet.  
 **Magneto:** I quit my job.  
 **ProfX:** Ah.  
 **Magneto:** You knew that.  
 **ProfX:** Yes. Sorry.

<<-Network disruption. Reconnecting...->>

Dammit. "I don't suppose you could go any faster, could you?" he asks the cabdriver.

"Sure. You want me to fly while I'm at it?"

"Nevermind."

 **Magneto:** Did you disappear?  
 **ProfX:** Network problems. Sorry. Back now.  
 **ProfX:** You were going to ask me something?  
 **Magneto:** How's Raven.  
 **ProfX:** Shouldn't you know. You talk to her as often as I do.  
 **Magneto:** Charles.  
 **ProfX:** Sorry. Old habits.  
 **Magneto:** I know.  
 **ProfX:** I miss her. She's better off, I suppose. But I miss her.  
 **Magneto:** I know.  
 **ProfX:** I miss you.  
 **ProfX:** Erik?  
 **ProfX:** She said she'll drop by maybe next month. Bring her mother. Should be fun. I'm terrified.  
 **ProfX:** And babbling to myself. Erik?  
 **Magneto:** I'm still here.  
 **ProfX:** Right.  
 **Magneto:** Did you like me better when you thought I wasn't going to last?  
 **ProfX:** I - maybe at first. I might have trust issues.  
 **Magneto:** Let me try to render my entirely unsurprised face in a manner you can understand.  
 **Magneto:** :-|  
 **ProfX:** You're one to talk, Mr. Tall, dark and mysterious.  
 **Magneto:** :-|  
 **ProfX:** Don't make me take away your emoticons, Erik. I can do it remotely.  
 **Magneto:** :-( :-( :-( :-( :-(  
 **ProfX:** Sigh.  
 **ProfX:** Did you get the file I sent?  
 **Magneto:** Yes.  
 **ProfX:** But you didn't use it.  
 **Magneto:** Some guy told me once I spent my life chasing after a ghost instead of focusing on what's important.  
 **ProfX:** Did he? What a jerk.

<<-Network disruption. Reconnecting...->>

"Ugh," Charles says, and shakes the phone, as if that will work. As if he's an idiot. They pull up to Erik's apartment soon enough, though. Charles overtips the man and hops out, but then he ends up standing in front of the apartment complex for a full five minutes, wondering what he's doing here. Wondering if Erik would -

The door buzzes open, and Charles grabs it before it can shut again. "Sorry," he says, to the man heading out, "I forgot my - Erik."

"Charles," Erik says. He glances the cellphone in his hand, faint expression of confusion on his face.

Charles holds up his own phone and tilts it back and forth.

"Ah." There's a smile simmering on his face.

"Were you going out?"

"Yes."

"Should I come back later then?"

"Charles," Erik says again. "Would you like to come upstairs?"

"Well, actually," Charles says, and he lets the door swing shut. "What I would really like is a cup of coffee. I know a great place, not far from here."

**For the record:**

Armando goes to grad school and Alex becomes the world's tiniest, angriest firefighter. They plan to have children someday, but not just yet.

Sean, with silent backing from Charles, starts a social networking site that is shockingly popular. He meets Dr. Moira McTaggert when his jet-ski crashes into a yacht she's on, and she's forced to save his life. She still refuses to marry him.

Angel buys the coffee shop from Charles for five dollars and the promise of a lifetime supply of free coffee, and runs it just about the way he did. She lives with an assortment of cats and is in a polyamorous relationship with twins. They are all very happy.

Raven marries Hank McCoy, then divorces him to marry a Russian with a mysterious one word name. Charles disapproves, but cries at both weddings and is godfather to their only child.

Sebastian Shaw dies from age-related complications in a nursing home in Boston. Only two people show up for his funeral.

As for Charles and Erik, they live happily ever after, and together they fight crime.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was horribly researched (read: not at all). None of this is plausible at all (sadly), Erik isn't Batman, author knows nothing about hacking, but I had such fun writing it, so! Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Partly re-posted from [here](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html?thread=101005).)


End file.
